Galaxy Gang
by Cerulean City
Summary: The unwritten story of Team Galactic, spanning from their creation to their downfall in Platinum. Rated M for violence, language and adult themes.
1. Childhood

So here it is, finally...the much awaited Team Galactic fic. I sure hope you enjoy it, I worked hard on this one! And yes, the chapters are supposed to be short and jumpy. I'm experimenting with a new style for this one.

Anyway, enjoy!

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_Prologue. _

_June 14, 1991. _

_One Road, Sunyshore City. _

_12:45 PM._

They always stared at him as he recklessly ran down the roads, always whispered softly to themselves, "That's the Catcher's kid," always looking at him with stern eyes and scared gazes. Clutching spare bits of metal, pieces of motherboard, of motor, of machinery, of computer and gear, he'd run through the Market, down the rocky edge by the coast, up the fragmented steps to his house.

They whispered behind his back.

"-That's the Catcher's kid-"

"-what's that? Yet another computer part?-"

"-doesn't he have any friends?-"

"-shame what happened to his parents-"

"-he's being raised by the Catcher family, you know, Terra and Gar Catcher-"

"-he's not _normal_."

"-I don't think it's right for a kid his age to stay indoors all the time-"

"-fiddling with his machines-"

"-an abnormal child, at best-"

Not normal.

Not normal, not normal not normal not normal.

That's all they could say.

That's all they ever said, an endless rehashing of the truth, what they thought was the truth.

Oh, he was a bright child, top of his class, skilled in speaking, proficient in reading, learning to play the piano, a total whiz at computers.

But he was…..not normal.

Because he liked machines more than man.

Because he liked machines more than man.

After taking home whatever it was he had found he would jump past his grandmother in the kitchen to the ladder that led to his lofted bedroom. She would cry out in fake surprise, and he would hug her, showing her this bit of metal, or that scrap of plastic. Always she would smile and say that he was a bright child and a good child and pat his head before the thrill of his discovery would lead him to his room and his own devices.

They were numerous.

One could hardly count the vast amount of machines that he had made: tiny robots that danced on the windowsill; larger pieces of metal glued together that lumbered incessantly, whirring and grinding and knocking against furniture. When he was young, he made tiny bots that could barely do more than wiggle and flop off the table, causing roars of delight from his grandmother at his antics. As he grew older, he began to fill his room less with the little machines cobbled from spare parts.

His first actual robot was a working model of a Vibrava that he'd made for a school project.

The assignment had been to create a model of a Pokémon that held special meaning for each child or some silly blather the boy, now a man-child, hadn't really paid attention too. He was distracted by the thoughts of how he could get this model to move, the inner workings of the physics of motion, of tension, of flight.

His grandfather had a pet Vibrava that had accompanied him from Hoenn. The Vibration Pokémon was spry despite its age and would often buzz the boy in jest, testing his reflexes. It was because of this silly Pokémon's demeanor that he chose it to be the finished product.

He slaved in his room for a week, taking apart some spare computers he'd bought from a scrap dealer and splicing the pieces together. When he was finished, his grandparents helped him with the ascetics, while the real Vibrava looked on interestedly. The man-child, the Catcher's kid, the Not-Normal, had produced a masterpiece, a Fake-Mon so real it nearly breathed.

The other kids were astounded, as well as the teacher. The closest anyone else had gotten was the paper-maché Vulpix installed with a tiny lighter that spit flame every ten seconds.

The man-child watched grimly as he let the Vibrava fly around the room, buzzing the teacher and repeating the recorded call on its tiny voice recorder, "Vibraaaaava! Vibraaaaava!"

His teacher was so impressed she contacted his grandparents. She wanted him to attend a special school for engineers and scientists; after that project, it was painfully obvious his talents would be wasted on a journey that the he would not undertake nor want to undertake. The forms were arranged and signed, and a man came and collected him for the school, accompanied by a girl the man-child's own age with flowing blonde hair and a fetish for fur-topped boots.

When the man-child left home, he placed the stilled robotic Vibrava next to his grandfather's cane in their bedroom.

And then They had a new topic to discuss. Not-Normal had left, to be replaced by an angry teen who shocked the world and became a Gym Leader.

Not-Normal was forgotten in the flow of time, except by an old couple willing to recount his sad tale to passing travelers in the markets.

The tale was wrought with sadness, and ultimately left the listener unsatisfied, as the elderly couple never heard what had become of the boy. His grandmother never laughed again, and his grandfather retreated into his room, trying to make the robot fly again.

He had emerged a man.

A man who ran with reckless abandon to a destiny that he could not claim.

_August 1, 2000. _

_Granite Stree.,_

_Veilstone City. _

_12:27 PM. _

"So you see, Mister…"

"Helios."

"Ah, Helios. So you see Mr. Helios, this building is perfect for your every need. It has five floors with spectacular views, and we can even install warp tiles on your floor if you wish. In addition, it is close to the main communications center, as Radio Sinnoh and Jubilife TV will both be leasing in the adjoining office park."

The two figures stepped over the construction barrier, the taller with a lanky ease. He scratched thoughtfully at the two-day stubble on his chin, looking around. The other figure, a short man with a perpetually ruddy face stared around at the construction, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

Around the two, cranes and construction workers bustled about. Several times, the taller of the twosome had to duck out of the way from a lurching crane or work-Machamp carrying a heavy load.

"So which floor are you interested in leasing, Mr. Helios?"

'Helios' looked around, gauging the distance and looking around at the construction workers. This office building would be the flagship of Veilstone City. It was located on a small bluff overlooking the city hewn from rock. In the distance, Helios could see the bustling casinos, shops and spas of the Gaming District, as well as Meteorite Park to the left of the Gaming District. The Gym was just barely visible in the distance, its cheery golden roof winking in the mid-day sun.

"I'll take the whole building." Helios replied calmly, without really even thinking about it.

"I'm-,uh…ahem…what?" The ruddy-faced, plump realtor stuttered and mopped his face again under the harsh noonday sun. He clutched his briefcase protectively, not completely sure if he'd heard his companion correctly.

"I said, I'll take the entire building." Helios repeated, not even meeting the other man's face. "Warp Tiles on every floor, to my specifications. And I'll also take those storage units there, with a tunnel connecting that unit to the first floor."

He pointed down the slope, where a collection of warehouses stood. The realtor followed Helios' lanky and slender arm, mopping his forehead again.

"Well, uh…Mr. Helios, this building would be only for sale if the City Council agreed to it. It's a joint conjecture with the Council…it's not meant for just one tenant! Certainly you jest, Mr. Helios. You couldn't _possibly_ wish to have the **entire** building…."

Helios cut him off with a wave and an insolent stare. "Nevertheless, I will take this building. Cost is no object."

The realtor again mopped his brow, withering under the harsh glare. "I'll…I'll see what I can do."

Helios smiled a cold smirk devoid of any real feeling or warmth. "See that you do."

He turned and walked past to the steel frame of the building, which was almost finished. Workers were yet installing the glass on the top floor. Most of the ongoing construction was setting up for the elaborate landscaping project on the grounds in front of the building.

Helios clasped his hands behind his back and planted his feet, gazing at the tall structure that would soon be his. It had a name, some ridiculous label as the Veilstone Center for Technology and Progress. He would leave it, sitting on the banner that announced this fact, on the first floor. But it would truly be something else. His headquarters…his life…his Team Galactic world…..

_December 14, 2000._

_14 Granite Street: Veilstone Center for Technology and Progress._

_Veilstone City_

_8:56 AM _

The man called Helios strode purposefully up the steps from Granite Street, literally ignoring all of the crowds on the sidewalk beside him. The crush of people were milling around in front of the newest building in Veilstone, waiting for the opening ceremony. A single red ribbon was stretched across the glass doors leading into the lobby, ready for the Mayor of Veilstone to cut the ribbon and declare the building open.

But the one topic on everyone's mind was the sole tenant of the building: some research organization called Galaxy Corp. Earlier in the year, before the building was even completed, this organization had outright bought the entire building from the city, barring anyone else from utilizing it, which was supposed to be open to everyone. It had been a hotly advertised and debated battle, and in the end, the representatives of Galaxy Corp had convinced the City Council to sell them the building. Rumor had it that the current Mayor of Veilstone, who was up for re-election next year, would have to contend with the fact that Galaxy Corp had stolen the building from everyone else.

Helios heard whispers and theories of this as he pushed his way through the crowds. It seemed as if the myriad of people had nothing better to talk about, even bypassing the immensely hot topic of the installation of a new Champion in the League this season. He snorted and calmly stood next to one of the giant communications dishes in the front square, using its shade from the sun.

The wind was chilly this morning. Veilstone caught the wind currents from Snowpoint City directly, considerably cooling the city by September each year. Clumps of recent snow were on the ground, as well as numerous icy patches. Several of the crowd slipped on such patches in their haste to get closer to the podium erected in front of the ribbon.

There came a collective hush as the Mayor of Veilstone, an attractive woman with lavender hair stepped forward. She was well respected by the community for her actions in lowering the crime rate as well as spearheading this program to rebuild her city's image.

"Welcome, all!" She exclaimed into the microphone. "I'm delighted to see all of you here. Especially you, Councilman Barker. I thought you didn't like me?"

The crowd laughed as one of the councilmen stepped forward, waving to the crowd. He was running against the Mayor in the upcoming elections, and had harshly criticized some of her decisions in office (including the decision to sell the building she was currently standing in front of). It was well known that the two were bitter rivals, and had been for a very long time.

"At any rate, it is pleasing to see such a turnout today. We of Veilstone City are dedicated to progress and technology, and it is with the goals of progressing into the new millennium that this center was established."

Here the Mayor paused, looking down her horn-rimmed glasses to her speech notes. Helios narrowed his eyes as a sudden thought hit him. Those eyes….so commanding…

"It has been a long time since any sort of good publicity was earned for our fair city. Most think that Veilstone is old, and crumbling, something not to be considered. Many come here to play in our Gaming District, ignoring the fact that we are a proud city with a proud heritage. Those who can see our progress think that we reached our cap a long time ago. They think that we cannot be as one with our sister cities."

There came a general murmur from the crowd as the Mayor let those words sink in. It was true; the rest of Sinnoh thought that Veilstone had gone downhill in a hurry, what with the lucrative Gaming District being installed. It was even to the point that many had begun to leave the city for other, more prosperous cities in Sinnoh, with only passing Trainers left to sustain the economy.

"Many think that we have slipped too far from our original goals, our original achievement to progress." The mayor continued. "We must prove to them that we have not, that our own city can rise above the rest and regain its status as the center for technological progress. We of Veilstone must prove that we are not lagging behind the rest in terms of our quality of life. We must prove to the rest of Sinnoh that our place is not behind our sister cities. We must prove that we can advance beyond our image. We must prove that we can, and do, embrace progress and change. We must prove that we are the best place to live in Sinnoh, and the hub for technological progress!"

Cheers erupted, the most prominent being from the small crowd of VIPs next to the Mayor: several members of the City Council, the police Chief and his first Lieutenant, as well as Veilstone's Gym Leader with his young daughter.

"With this in mind, I'd like to declare the Veilstone Center for Technology officially open!"

The Mayor cut the ribbon with a large pair of ornamental scissors, the ends fluttering gently to the frosted ground. Clapping and cheers came from the crowd as they pressed forward, looking to enter the building.

Helios watched them enter, chattering excitedly. For now, the building was completely and totally empty. He had yet to begin the arduous task of moving in. He would let the people satisfy their desire to see the building. He would close it later, when public notice had faded. Right now, he had sighted his first task.

The Mayor stepped down from her perch, chatting with several council members and the Gym Leader. She didn't notice the blue haired man watching her intently, nor did she notice his pleased gaze. Her mind was focused on PR.

Helios nodded once, and then slipped back down the steps.


	2. Introduction

Allright, here it is, kiddies...chapter two of **Galaxy Gang!** I was surprised at the positive feedback from last chapter...thanks to all who reviewed/alerted/fave'd! But let's get down to it, shall we?

I do not own Cyrus, Team Galactic, Veilstone City, Snowpoint City, or the Pokemon franchise in general. I do however, own this story, the characterizations protrayed within, the assorted background characters as well as the Sims Deluxe Edition. This work cannot be used without my express written permission. Please direct all questions, comments and Aggie jokes to my agent, whose link can be found at the bottom of the screen under "Submit Review". Thanks!

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_December 14, 2000. _

_Four Rockslide Avenue: Veilstone City Hall_

_Veilstone Ciry_

_3:07 PM_

The Mayor exited from the limo in her motorcade and made her way up the steps to the City Hall. As expected, her staff followed her, (along with the VIPS from the Building opening) through the crowd of reporters.

"Madam Mayor! Can you comment on the opening of the center this morning?"

"Mayor! Can you tell us who bought the center?"

"Mayor Stockman! Could you tell us who exactly is moving into the center?"

At least three of them shouted at her excitedly, and she could tell that one crew was from Jubilife TV's Veilstone branch.

"Mayor! Please! One question over here!"

The Mayor smiled and waved, adjusting her back glasses over her strangely red eyes. She motioned to her press secretary to handle the affair with the reporters and ducked into the front doors of City Hall.

The cold stone of the marble floors and the high, airy lobby greeted her. The Mayor walked importantly past the front desk to the elevator, followed by a few members of her staff. Two of the men began chatting as they exited the elevator on the fifth floor: the Mayor's office.

"Well…that was interesting, to say the least." She remarked, sinking into her chair.

"Yes Ma'am." Her chief of staff agreed in his peculiar Western Sinnoh accent. He loosened his tie a bit and sank into the chair across from her, accepting a drink from one of the interns. "Sure did get cold in a hurry, dinnit?"

"It sure did." The Mayor agreed. She typed in a few commands into her personal computer that was built in behind her desk. "Funny though…Helena predicted that we wouldn't get this cold for another two weeks."

The man smiled. "Helena never gets it right. My momma always told me to look for the berries to determine the real weather. Momma says, when the Iappapa blooms, frost is comin'. And my Iapappas started bloomin' last week."

The Mayor turned from her computer screen that was displaying her next day's schedule. Adjusting her glasses, she smiled at her Chief of Staff. "Well, Tommy, your mother was a very smart woman."

"Damn straight." Tommy easily grinned back at her. The door across the way opened and a blonde secretary walked in, smiling at Tommy and the Mayor.

"Madam Mayor, the car's waiting for you. You've got an interview with Gabby from Radio Sinnoh in ten and dinner immediately afterwards with Councilwomen Kosuzaku and Jones."

The Mayor gritted her teeth. "Oh crud. It's girl's night…."

Her secretary nodded sympathetically. "I'm afraid so."

The Mayor sighed. "OK. Let's get to the studio. It's not like I haven't done enough publicity already today."

Smiling, the lavender-haired woman rose from her chair and adjusted her black horn-rims again. She paused in the small mirror set off to the side as her Chief-of-Staff and the Secretary exited, chatting about the next days' schedule. For a moment, she completely let her mind go blank, emptying it of the harsh demands of the day. As such, when she heard the faintest rustle of cloth and a small gust of wind, it didn't register to her that something was wrong.

"_Jennifer…."_

The voice was but a low whisper, the wind on the pavement, the rustle of Pokémon in the brush.

The Mayor stiffened. Calmly, she put down her lipstick and let her eyes dart about the room. Apart from herself, there was no one in the room.

"_Jennifer Stockman…."_

The Mayor continued to scan the room, ignoring the prickly feeling on the back of her neck. Who was it that had spoken? It was a rough voice, almost one that sounded unused to speaking Sinnoh Basic. And it was so soft…..so inviting…..

"_I need you, Jennifer….Won't you come with me?" _

"Who…who are you?" She asked in a whisper. This time, the Mayor was really scared. She dropped her lipstick and compact clumsily and tried to pick it up. As she did so, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and as she slowly rose, she tried to see what had spoken.

"_Hello, Jennifer." _

The Mayor let out a piercing shriek as she saw the face in the mirror hanging over her left shoulder. It was at once awful and inspiring, cold and frozen, commanding and inviting. She admired the chiseled jaw and the tongue-in-cheek smirk the face employed, in total control of everything and ultimately sure of itself. She whirled around to find that there truly was no one else in the room. Upon knowing this, she cast one final look to the beautiful face in her mirror and her knees buckled.

Two security guards broke in, followed by Tommy the chief of staff, a couple of interns and the secretary. Tommy made a beeline for her as one of the security guards caught the mayor as she slumped to the floor, utterly spent.

"What was that?" One of the guards barked. "Mayor, who was it?"

Jennifer Stockman, Mayor of Veilstone City, straightened, pretending nothing had happened. "Nothing...I...it was nothing. I'll be fine."

With that, she put on her most winning smile. "On to the interview!"

_December 15, 2000. _

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City_

_1:15 AM_

An insistent beeping filled the air as a small watch alarm went off. Groggily, 'Helios' turned over in the king-sized bed and looked at the source of the noise. It was his BlukBerry, a small multipurpose phone and organizer. The blue-haired man looked at the display screen on the BlukBerry, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Helios put aside his sleepy state with a quick toss of the covers. Groaning, he shut off the shrill alarm.

His body was tense in a few spots from sleeping in the same position. Always he slept on his back, arms hanging by his side. Although this was a comfortable position for a mummy, Helios drew no attention to the fact that this was a very unnatural sleep cycle for a human. Comfort was derived from an emotion. And to him, emotion was irrelevant.

Helios made no noise as he crossed to the tiny bathroom and began to run water for a shower. He stripped off his boxers and prepared to enter the shower, feeling the hot water beat against the tense muscles of his back.

He constantly thought of his next step in his campaign. What else did he need to gain? Helios needed three people who he could completely trust with his vision. He'd already selected the first, who would be excellent to his cause. Helios had several options to consider for the second. Unfortunately, he had no idea who the third person would be, but Cresselia would present the perfect solution. She always did.

Helios heard a sudden noise from the other room, thanks to the training he had undertaken in order to prepare for such an event. He had anticipated what the noise was coming from, and as such, had been waiting for it. He finished his shower and dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist.

Walking silently, Helios entered into the bedroom. A small…entity…was floating several inches off the floor, and upon seeing the man, silently raised itself to eye level. Helios noticed this as he looked for the suit he had picked out to wear.

"Mismagius." Helios nodded in his cold monotone. The purple creature looked back at the man and nodded its pointed head.

The Magical Pokémon grinned in its perpetual creepy grin. "_Mismagius….." _It droned.

Helios pulled a Pokéball from the dresser beside the bed and recalled the Pokémon in a flash of red light. He didn't notice the disappointed smirk that the Ghost-Type played on its face as it was sucked away into the peculiar sphere. Without a backwards glance, Helios tossed the ball to the bed, locking it in place on a small belt that could be worn around the waist.

Helios dressed himself quickly before moving across the room to the small dining suite. An elaborate computer setup greeted him.

There were three monitors arranged in a semi-circle, with a fourth built on top of the one in the middle. Currently, two of them (the two on the outer edges) were rapidly scrolling down a list of rap sheets (Helios had patched into police chief's personal intake logs for last month), images of faces flashing by at a hectic rate. Of the others, the one on top of the middle was displaying current weather patterns, as well as a full email inbox, while the fourth displayed a direct security camera lead into the Veilstone Building.

Helios glanced at one of the rap sheets on a whim, and suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation hit him.

He scrabbled violently for the mouse, halting the progress of the rap sheets with a simple click. He calibrated the mouse on the four screens, moving it from his email to the left side monitor, which was currently sporting a man with a sullen visage. The man had teal hair done up into two elaborate points, although Helios knew that in prison, that hairdo was quite likely to be styled differently now.

He took a further moment to still his emotions again. Once he was certain that his response was under control, he carefully perused the man's rap sheet.

Gregori Ivanovich Scott. An unsual melding of names. The first two hailed from across the sea. The second was native Sinnoh. Solaceon Town, in fact, if Helios remembered correctly. Deep in the back of his mind, he vaguely wondered how the two cultures had combined, Sinnoh and….

His BlukBerry buzzed angrily at him again, and Helios gently picked it up. 2:30. It was time.

_December 15, 2000. _

_56 Adamantium Avenue: Veilstone Penal and Correctional Facility _

_Veilstone City_

_8:34 AM _

Gregori Ivanovich Scott leaned heavily against the steel wall of his cell, his breathing labored. Wincing in pain, he slumped back down against his steel-framed bed, clutching his side.

It had been a rough night.

He coughed for a bit, not amused to see that blood and mucus landed in the palm of his hand. His side flared terribly at the sudden movement, shooting icy tendrils of pain up into his shoulder. 

Grimacing , through half-lidded eyes, Gregori regretted the cough and his illness in its entirety. Combined with his latest round of "questioning", it felt like he'd broke a rib. Again.

He was a young man, although to look at him, one would assume that he was much older. His eyes were decidedly feline, and the once sparkling irises were dull and glassy. Yet underneath, an intense passion burned. Despite the dampening effects of his short-yet-rough-lifespan, Gregori's ocean-blue eyes were not without passion.

There came an ominous rumble from the other side of the room, and Gregori looked up in time to see the cell door creak open. As expected, his body completely seized up , his limbs refusing to obey his mental commands. Gregori winced and stifled down a moan, determined not to give up the pleasure that he had been beaten.

A figure appeared in front of him, a burly man with a short, tottering creature by his side. The man grinned wickedly at Gregori, happy to see that the creature had done his job.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" The guard enjoyed taunting him, Gregori especially. He was the one inmate who had yet to be broken. And the guards so loved to break them.

Gregori mumbled a short curse involving Darkrai and the guard's mother that was thankfully unheard, or else another rib would probably be broken out of spite. Still with the guard's leer plastered on his face, Gregori felt his body lift into the air of its own accord and float forward.

The harsh light of the hallway met him, along with the stern, yet oddly uncharacteristically grinning, expression of the creature that accompanied the guard: a Kadabra. The creature was using an Attack on him to still his body, and mind, although Gregori had always been successful at resisting the dampening effects the Guard-Kadabra used to quiet his mind. Without any sort of spoken command, the Kadabra began to shuffle forwards, the odd claws on its two feet making a faint clicking upon each step. Behind the two, the guard closed and locked the door mechanically, and followed the two down the hallway.

Gregori knew where he was going, and with a sigh, fell back on his survival training and began to erect mental barriers that would stifle probes into his brain. After all, he did carry several secrets that he did not wish to be advertised.

However, instead of turning right to go to interrogation rooms, the Kadabra forced his body to float in the opposite direction, toward a portion of the facility that he hadn't been before. Staring at the guard and his Kadabra, Gregori tried to hide his sudden apprehension. The guard took him to a specific door and typed the access code to the keypad next to it. With a muted whoosh, Gregori was thrown into the room, his body kept floating in the air by the Kadabra's Psychic power. The guard leered at him again. "I'll be back to pick up the pieces."

Barely biting back a cry of anger, he slumped next to the lone table in the center of the room, clutching his side. The door shut and locked without another word, and the Guard-Kadabra lifted the Attack. Gregori relaxed slightly and, wincing in pain, he got up into the chair facing the door. If he was going to be…"questioned"… again tonight, he at least wanted to face his attacker head-on.

He didn't have to wait long before the series of beeps and clicks came that signified that the door was being unlocked. Gregori tensed, biting his cheek to keep down the pain from his side. He would _not _give them the satisfaction that he'd been beaten.

Helios stepped into the room; the door shut behind him. For a moment, the two men gazed at each other coolly.

"Got any smokes?" Gregori asked finally, breaking the silence.

Helios maintained his silence as he sat down in the chair across from Gregori. Neither one was willing to break the eye-contact, and if anyone was watching, they would have sworn sparks flew between them.

Wordlessly, Helios reached into a pocket of his suit and tossed a package of cigarettes and a lighter at the other man, who immediately lighted one and inhaled deeply. He nodded in appreciation, 

his gaze hard. They enjoyed another few moments of silence before Gregori leaned back in his chair and took a long drag on his cigarette.

"So what do you want?"

"I want only what you can give me." Helios replied cryptically. Gregori snorted and took another puff of the cigarette.

"Like I've never heard that before…" He mumbled.

Nicotine floated around his feline eyes in lazy circles, and the man exhaled in a long stream. He stubbed out the cigarette, nearly finished, and immediately lit a new one.

"My name is Cyrus."

The silence was finally broken by the man with the blue hair, and Gregori crossed one arm by his chest and took a long drag of the cigarette.

"Is it now? Well, Cyrus, you ain't in Kanto anymore. This ain't the Pidgey flying over the rainbow, way up high."

He exhaled directly in Cyrus' face. Surprisingly the man didn't even blink. The two resumed their staring contest

"So what do you want, Dorothy?"

Gregori stubbed out the cigarette, nearly finished, and immediately lit a new one.

Cyrus smiled. "I want you to share my world; my Team Galactic world."

Gregori smirked, taking another long puff of his cigarette. The smoke trailed around them both before climbing steadily to the vent in the corner. He flicked the butt of the cigarette expertly into the ashtray between them. "Fine. I'll ride the Milotic's Twister all the way to Oz."

Cyrus leaned forward, placing a briefcase on the table between them. A cruel smirk played on the corner of his mouth, the only sign of satisfaction anyone would ever see.

"Welcome to Oz."


	3. Questioning

Efufufu! I can't believe the amount of speculation I've been getting about Mayor Jennifer Stockman! You'll have to wait and see what role she's going to play in the future (although it's pretty apparent by now...subtlety is not really one of my strong points.../rolls eyes/)

Anywho. Chapter Three. Coming at ya.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. I do however, own this story, and the specific Original Characters spelled within as well as the characterizations of the Team Galactic Members. This story cannot be used without my express written and verbal consent.

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_December 15, 2000. _

_26 Rockslide Avenue, Mayor's Residence. _

_Veilstone City. _

_8:47 AM. _

Mayor Stockman bolted upright in her bed, her heart beating frantically. For a second, she tussled with the huge blanket on her bed, trying to figure out where she was.

After a few seconds, her eyes adjusted. She was in the Mayor's Mansion. In bed.

She exhaled and slumped down on the pillows, rubbing at her eyes.

The things she saw in her dreams were not normal, by any sense of the word. Some might say that she was a Channeller; some would call her psychic. Others would say she was downright insane for even bothering to admit that she could 'see' what others couldn't.

She had visions of the future (as cliché as that might sound to her critics). She saw death, destruction, people screaming in pain and Pokémon crying for their slain masters. For a moment, the mayor shivered, trying to regain her composure. After a while, she began to reflect on her vision, like she always did.

Truthfully, Jennifer was glad that her family's obsession with Psychic-Types, predictions and prophecies had not been passed to her. This was not to say that she ignored her dreams; no, too many of them had come true to be passed off as ordinary dreams. So she heeded the strange images seen in the dreams, but rarely could she act upon them.

For example, just last year, she'd had a dream that a faceless stranger would try to take over the world using a variety of means and people; in Johto, a strange man wearing a mask of crushed up Gym Badges had attempted to assassinate the Elite Four of that region a month after her dreams had taken place. Two days later, her dreams had involved two mysterious Pokémon, one an orange and teal humanoid and the other a gigantic green Ekans, that fought an epic battle over a futuristic city somewhere far away. (This one had yet to come to fruition, but Jennifer had no doubts that it would indeed come to pass).

No, she watched the images in her dreams and tried not to think about all the impending disasters. Including the train-wreck of a career her political life was turning out to be.

With that thought at the forefront of her mind, Jennifer sat up and turned on the lamp next to her bed, snatching up her glasses and her journal. Quickly, she penned down the most recent dream in this venerable book, like always, and then reflected.

She had seen the silhouette of a man standing atop a mountain, surrounded by a veritable corona of psychedelic light that rolled behind him in waves. This man, although she couldn't see his face nor any of his other features, exuded power. This in itself was not the worst part of the vision. It was seeing the other two figures flanking the man. One was another man, slender, with an almost feline elegance. Jennifer could see his face and dress clearly.

The other was herself.

That was apparent immediately. She sketched a quick scene in her journal to be able to remember it correctly and clearly. Then, after seeing the woman's hairdo on the pages, began to doubt herself.

Scrambling out of bed, Mayor Stockman moved to the full-length mirror and gazed into it. She twisted and turned, positioning her body just so….a model's exhausted slump, with hair pulled up just so, one hand on her hip. She took one hand and grabbed her hair in a bunch, pulling it back in a severe bun that seemed to stand upright, then cascade down in the back to form a short Ponyta-tail.

Although she had the pose down, Jennifer couldn't capture the absolute horror she'd seen from looking at her…doppelganger, for lack of a better word. She turned; maybe the pose was incorrect?

"The glasses." She whispered to herself, staring hard at her reflection in the mirror, and the odd hairstyle she'd seen on her doppelganger.

Trembling, Jennifer reached up with her free hand and extracted her horn-rims. The change was almost immediate.

Unconsciously, the Mayor felt herself straighten, and a cruel commanding smirk appeared on her face. A dozen emotions hit her at once, and she stumbled back, turning away from the mirror. The smirk seemed to haunt her eyes, even though she'd closed them in a hurry.

"No." Jennifer muttered. "That's not me."

Hurriedly, she scribbled out the figure on the page of her diary that carried her image, slashing violently at the page with her pen. When she was satisfied the image was sufficiently covered, she slid the journal back in her bedside table drawer and put back on her glasses.

She decided to wear her hair down for the day.

_December 15, 2000. _

_Adamantium Avenue _

_Veilstone City_

_10:56 AM. _

Cyrus led Gregori out the doors to the outside world, holding the heavy metal doors open for the weakened man. The blue-haired man wouldn't admit it, but his ribcage was smarting furiously. It was taking all of his strength just to stand, and he was grateful for Cyrus opening the door for him. Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the clear December morning, clutching his right side underneath the heavy fur coat.

Cyrus muttered aimlessly to himself as he carried his briefcase and the small parcel containing Gregori's effects. Predictably, his companion had entered the jail with only a few things: of them, two Pokéballs, a wallet, several letters from someone named "Natalyia" Cyrus considered normal; it was the small golden cube that had caught his interest. His BlukBerry had been buzzing angrily about it all morning. Cyrus paused for a moment to open the PDA, letting Gregori catch his breath by leaning on the side of a building for a moment.

"Where' we headed anyway, Boss?"

He took a final pull from the last cigarette that Cyrus had given him, ignoring the sharp stab from his ribs.

Cyrus didn't reply for a long moment as his faithful PDA ran through the scanning program he had installed himself. When he was satisfied with the results, he pocketed the phone and turned to Gregori.

"You must be healed. You will go to the hospital." He replied tersely.

Gregori snorted. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

He grabbed his parcel out of the other man's hand and walked away, his shoes making hardly any noise on the deserted street.

Cyrus smiled as he watched the other man stalk off angrily.

"Consider this a test." Cyrus called.

Gregori whirled around, glaring angrily at the other man.

"A test of what!"

Cyrus grinned creepily again, his mouth curling in a cruel smirk.

"A test of your loyalties."

Gregori bit back a sliver of pain from his sudden movement. Clutching the parcel in one hand and his aching ribcage, Gregori had to admit that the other man did have a point. He couldn't do anything of what Cyrus had told him would happen if he had a couple of broken ribs.

"Fine." The blue-nette snapped. He turned sharply on his heel and began walking down a side-street, his feet slapping on the pavement. Cyrus watched him go for a long moment before withdrawing his BlukBerry from his pocket and checking on the program he'd been running to scan his companion.

_December 15, 2000. _

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City_

_1:24 PM_

Cyrus had begun preparations for a late lunch when his doorbell rang insistently from the apartment door. He cast a cold glance to the perpetually grinning Mismagius at his side, and the creature disappeared into thin air.

It wasn't long before the door had opened of its own accord, and a tentative voice called into the apartment's small antechamber.

"Hello? Mr. Helios?"

Cyrus checked to make sure that his suit was impeccably straightened (it was of course meticulously clean) and stepped from the kitchen into the spotless formal living room. He gently touched the glass door that opened from the small lobby-esque space by the main door, admitting a man into his apartment.

"Ah, Mr. Terovstein." Helios announced to the other-wise empty apartment in his cold, formal tone. "What can I do for you?"

Cyrus ushered the man into the living room, sparing a glance of distaste towards the door where he knew his Mismagius was hidden.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Helios." The kindly old man stuttered. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

Cyrus spared a cold glance to the door to the kitchen as he helped the man onto the couch. He himself sat down opposite the man, in an elaborate wingback chair facing away from the dining room and the engaging computer setup.

"You are not, Mr. Terovstein. May I inquire to your visit?"

The old man stuttered for a moment, straightening his glasses above his dull green eyes. "Well, Mr. Helios, I've unfortunately gotten a few complaints about your residence."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow just so his companion wouldn't think him odd for having no reaction. "Oh? Pray tell."

The old man didn't catch the slightly dangerous tone the blue-haired man had adopted, and continued by reaching into the pocket of his sweater. He extracted a few papers from the ancient piece of cloth, and, pushing his glasses further on his nose, read aloud.

"As you know, Mr. Helios, we have a strict policy here about no Pokémon. Unfortunately, several of our residents have complained about a Ghost-Type that floats around in their own apartments, bothering them, before disappearing into your apartment. I've gotten this from no fewer than three residents, Mr. Helios."

This time, Cyrus's eyes did flash in anger before he was able to stifle his response again. He quickly turned back to the old man, who didn't seem to have noticed.

The front door chose that exact moment to slam and break the silence of the room. The old man jumped, and Cyrus cast a dangerous glance to the front door.

"Oh dear, what was that?" The apartment manager asked, clutching the papers containing the complaints to his chest.

Cyrus rose to his feet, his brain buzzing urgently. "It was nothing. Just the wind. A storm is coming, Mr. Terovstein. Might I suggest that you return to your own apartment?"

His voice was soft, yet commanding, and the apartment manager felt like he had little choice in the matter. He shuddered, looking out at the snowstorm driving down from Mt. Coronet. He shakily allowed the much taller blue-nette to help him to his feet and to the door.

"Yes, you're quite right. I just wanted to remind you, Mr. Helios, of our policy. I'm sure that we won't have to discuss this again."

"Don't worry." Cyrus replied silkily, glancing again to the door. "It will be taken care of."

The door shut behind the old man with a snap, and Cyrus gritted his teeth together impatiently. He glanced around the apartment, noting the absence of his Mismagius.

"Come here." He hissed, and the Ghost-Type wisely stayed hidden just out of reach. Cyrus turned his head to the side as the first of the snow began falling, dancing snowflakes from Mount Coronet.

"Come HERE!" he roared suddenly, and the Mismagius popped into view beside him, doing its best not to look like it had done anything wrong. If it had feet, it would have been shuffling them back and forth, like a child caught stealing cookies.

"I don't want to see you again." Cyrus hissed through clenched teeth. "Go to the Mayor. That is your task. When she comes here, you are released. Do not try to return to me."

With that, he walked into the kitchen to finish his lunch.


	4. Hold

And here we are with Chapter Four. I think this may, actually, be the shortest chapter in the entire fic. I mean it. It's only about 800 words. I was even surprised. It's really mostly filler, I apologize about that, but it's necessary. The action starts again next chapter. As a warning, this chapter contains a few instances of harsh language. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, Team Galactic, or any of the main characters in general. I do own this story, the particular characterizations portrayed within, as well as the individual and assorted background characters. This story cannot be used without my express verbal and written permission.

* * *

_December 16, 2000. _

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City_

_3:47 AM _

Cyrus was startled by the sudden sound of the door opening in his apartment. Looking around his empty room, he quickly threw back the covers and stood up, gathering the firearm he kept near the bed. He was only in his boxers, comfortably warm under the mass of quilts in the bed. Compared to the frigid apartment, his body instantly shivered; Cyrus swallowed and stifled the emotion. Taking off the safety, he eased open the door and crept down the hall.

He was surprised to see that a light was on in the living room; however, that could just be a ruse. Stealthily, he paused in the bathroom, hearing a few mumbled curses. Gathering his strength, he spun out of the door and tackled the figure that was standing in the hall.

"Do not move," he hissed, straddling the strange person. He pressed the gun to the figure's head, so the message was clear. "What are you doing here?" Cyrus demanded hoarsely.

"Speak!" He shouted, shoving the barrel into the man's ear.

Squirming, the man held out his hands underneath the elaborate fur coat, flat on the floor. "What the hell, Boss? I've got a fucking bruised ribcage here!"

Cyrus deftly stepped to his feet, putting the safety back on the gun. "Scott."

Gathering his coat about his lanky body, Gregori got to his feet and glared at Cyrus. "You have some real fucking issues, Boss." He shrugged, biting his tongue to keep from screaming from the pain in his ribs. Sighing, he sat down on the couch, crossing his legs and letting the coat drape around him.

Cyrus could see the bandaged ribs and Gregori's left arm taped closely to his side. He twirled on the spot and vanished into the bedroom; Scott took the opportunity to light up a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, ignoring the twinge from his ribs, he looked around the apartment.

The man didn't seem to be a real collector of…stuff…per se, but the apartment was comfortably furnished. Gregori didn't know what was fashionable (as he'd only kept up with that on his desginer clothes), but he could tell that the furnishings were expensive. One thing was for certain, Cyrus didn't skimp on himself.

Gregori exhaled in a long stream as Cyrus exited from his bedroom, suitably dressed in a pair of pajamas. Barely sparing a glance to his companion, Cyrus moved over to the wall of computers atop his dining room table and sat down, immersed in his own work.

"Now what?" Gregori broke the silence of the apartment in his snide tenor. "I'm sure you didn't invite me over for cocoa with Razz Berries."

Cyrus continued his scans, clicking here and there occasionally. "Patience is a virtue." He finally replied, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Gregori rolled his eyes and extinguished his cigarette.

_December 16, 2000. _

_26 Rockslide Avenue, Mayor's Residence. _

_Veilstone City. _

_6:01 AM. _

The Mayor awoke to the sounds of her secretary opening the curtains in her room. Groaning, she turned over, trying to block out the sound of the other woman moving around.

"Mary-Jane, what time is it?" She asked groggily.

"It's after six." The prim woman replied. "I need your approval to start closing schools."

Yawning, Jennifer sat up, clutching the warm blankets about her body. She rubbed her eyes sleepily before glancing at the window.

"Wow, snow."

The dancing snowflakes outside of the window sparkled even under the heavy cloud cover. Apparently, a storm had blown down from Snowpoint sometime in the night. The Mayor knew that Helena of On-the-Spot Weather was really messed up for not predicting this one.

The Mayor threw back the covers and jumped quickly to the desk across the way, where Mary-Jane had spread out the official document that could close the schools for the day. Jennifer checked the document, listing the accurate predictions of the snowfall (straight from the National Weather Institute in Hoenn) before nodding and signing quickly.

"Eh. Let the kids have a snow day." She said, glancing about for her glasses. Before heading for her private bathroom, she turned to Mary-Jane, who was gathering the Mayor's documents in her briefcase. "One more thing…"

"Yes, Madam Mayor?"

Jennifer rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She stepped closer to her secretary and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I…I have this funny feeling…I think there might have been a Mismagius in my room last night; I woke up and heard whispering…"

Mary-Jane straightened. It wasn't a thing to be taken lightly; a person haunted by a Mismagius was eventually driven mad by hallucinations. If it was suspected by anyone else that the Mayor had Mismagius infection, it would further damage her ratings at the polls and her campaign for reelection.

The blonde nodded. "I'll have someone look into it, Madam Mayor."

Jennifer smiled. "Thanks."

And then she disappeared to prepare herself for another day.


	5. Pick Me Up

Hey look! An update! Again, I'm soooooo sorry this is late. I've been way beyond busy, it's insane. I will be updating again on schedule, every Sunday, now that I've finished the impromptu factchecking. Excitment!

New character alert! And this chapter's pretty tame.

Disclaimer: You can't use this without permission. It's my story. Get your own.

_December 16, 2000. _

* * *

_56 Adamantium Avenue: Veilstone Penal and Correctional Facility _

_Veilstone City_

_9:07 AM _

It took Police Chief Henry Griffin an extra fifteen minutes to drive to work because of the snow. Gritting his teeth, he praised his decision to switch to his "winter Raticate" (a late model domestics car that could handle the snowdrifts, large, with broken radios and seat leather peeling apart and doors that stuck), but cursed whichever one of the Gods had called him into work that morning.

It was his day off, after all. He had been looking forward to his trip with his girlfriend to Sunyshore, where they would dance the weekend away in the clubs. But no. They'd had to postpone at least a few hours, putting them in Sunyshore behind schedule. And she was not happy about that; By Cressel he'd never hear the end of that. She'd bitched before Henry had been forced to leave to go to the office; having the foresight to silence his phone, her tirade had not continued. Cresselia help her from Darkrai, she was a wonderful woman, but she had a ferocious temper.

As he finally pulled into the parking lot of the penal compound, Henry eyed the falling snow suspiciously. The storm was already have supposed to let up, but it looked like it was beginning to snow again. Resolving to finish quickly, Henry pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine.

It took him a further five minutes to get across the parking lot, through security, and into his office, and Henry whipped off his coat and scarf hastily before sitting down cross-legged in the chair, pushing his ragged black hair out of his face.

He glanced down at the file on his desk, his face already creasing into a frown. This was so important he'd had to delay his vacation? He flipped through the single sheet of paper contained within, his bad mood getting worse by the second.

"So." He snapped to his First Lieutenant, a slim woman who had just appeared in his doorway. "You drag me all the way down here to look at this. Release orders?"

"Well, sir, Mr. Scott posted bail early yesterday." She explained, her aquamarine hair falling in her eyes. She brushed it back with an impatient fidget, biting her bottom lip nervously.

"And your point is?" Henry snapped forcefully. "Release orders go through Danny, two floors down. This is ridiculous."

He began to stand up, grabbing his coat from the floor as his lieutenant twitched nervously. "I should demote you for this, _Lieutenant_," Henry hissed placing a heavy emphasis on 'Lieutenant', "but I'm in a generous mood."

"Sir, Mr. Scott was first incarcerated for involvement in the failed MarshBadge Experiment."

Henry slumped back into his chair, remembering that crucial detail of why this particular man was in jail in the first place. "Oh."

"Yes, sir, that's what I said too."

Henry's first Lieutenant bit her lip again for speaking out of turn, yet her superior didn't seem to notice as he booted up the computer sitting on top of his desk. She clicked her pumps together, making sure that she was standing perfectly as Henry decreed.

"Sit down, please." Henry remarked calmly, without really looking at the prim woman in the office. "You know I hate it when you hover."

"Yes, sir."

She obeyed immediately, setting her briefcase down on the floor between the two chairs in front of her superior's desk. She crossed her arms demurely in her lap, staring behind Henry to the billowing snowstorm.

"You know what, Valerie?" Henry broke the silence off the office as his computer began patching itself to the police server network. "I'm letting you explain to Shiri why our vacation was delayed."

His first Lieutenant brushed back her bangs again in her traditional nervous fidget. "Yes, sir." She replied resignedly, an unhappy frown creasing her porcelain face.

Henry returned to his troubled thoughts by tucking one hand under his chin, staring intently at his computer screen.

_December 16, 2000. _

_5 Obsidian Trail_

_Veilstone City_

_10:48 AM_

Gregori trudged up the nearly deserted street, dodging patches of ice and large clumps of snow as he did so. Cyrus needed him to fetch a package from a local shipping outlet, and so therefore, his newest (and for the moment, only) subordinate was elected the task.

The blue-nette sighed, wishing he at least still had his car for ease of transportation, instead of having to take Veilstone's public bus service. Although the bus had dropped him off only a few blocks away, his bruised ribs were still smarting horribly, despite the painkillers, and the short walk was practically torture. Finally arriving at the right building, Gregori pushed open the glass doors and slouched into the lobby.

It was a plush seven story business building, if the lobby was any indication, and Gregori let himself admire the design for a few moments while he caught his breath. The thick carpet muffled the sounds of his boots as he clutched his heavy fur coat about him. Striding forward, he motioned to a nearby attendant for help at a nearby counter with a lazy flick of his hand.

"Suite 97." He rasped, his throat burned from the cold.

"Yes, sir." The female attendant replied, tapping something into a computer behind the screen. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm retrieving a package." Gregori replied, staring behind the woman to the muted off-cream wall behind her.

"Thank you, sir." She replied, handing him a visitor's pass. "Have a pleasant day."

Gregori twitched an eyebrow, and as quickly as the woman had appeared, she melted away behind the counter. He turned, making sure his coat wouldn't fall, and moved down the expanse of the lobby toward the central bank of elevators.

Behind the elevators was a small enclosed courtyard, bounded by a café of some sorts. Tables were scattered across the room, which sloped down to a small pit underneath the main floor. Gregori resolved himself to fetch a coffee after he'd picked up the package, in reward of a job well done. He punched the gold button for the elevator, pleasantly surprised when one set of doors responded behind him with the customary ding.

Turning on his heel, he caught sight of the group of business-people exiting, probably heading home from an early day to the snowstorm. He slouched further and stared at the floor in front of him when a pair of patent-leather pumps stepped into his view. He followed the legs up to see a woman staring curiously at him, until he caught sight of her face and the two made eye contact.

"Gregori?" She asked hesitantly, her voice smooth and cool, with a hint of a foreign accent.

He sighed. "Natalyia."


	6. Family

Aha! You didn't have to wait long for the conclusion of that cliffhanger! Okay, so it was a LAME place to break it, but hey, I gotta get my kicks somehow. It's a bit of backstory for basically the next two chapters, but character development is necessary, people.

There is, however, a very important and kinda rant-ish sort of Author's Note at the bottom; I usually do all the talking up here, but it's too big and you wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about anyway. But read it. Internalize it. Feed it to your dog, I don't care. But please keep in mind, it's a policy.

I wish I owned these people. They're fun. But alas, the Pokemon Company, Nintendo, Gamefreak, and Satoshi Tajiri own these people. I'm just ruining their lives.

* * *

_December 16, 2000. _

_5 Obsidian Trail._

_Veilstone City._

_10:51 AM._

Gregori cradled the porcelain cup of coffee in his hands, feeling the warmth soak into his cold fingers. Blowing gently, he pierced the steam billowing from the cup before taking a delicate sip. Letting the most minute quantity of the coffee slide down his throat, he swallowed, savoring the feel of the liquid, before returning the cup to the saucer on the table in front of him with a gentle clink.

"Gregori."

He glanced up, letting one of his feline eyes brush across Natalyia's features before returning to the delicate rhythm of taking another minute sip of the coffee.

"Why did you not tell me?"

Her gentle, lilting voice carried the hint of the accent that the two of them shared with their common language. She gently caressed the rim of her coffee cup, before looking back to her male companion.

"You know I would have helped you, in due time."

The two sat in silence as Gregori sipped again at his coffee, blatantly ignoring her. Natalyia didn't seem to find this odd, in fact, she took several sips of her own coffee, watching the billowing snowflakes dance outside of the cafeteria's windows.

"It's not that." Gregori replied eventually. "I know you would have."

"Then why did you not wait?" Natalyia hissed, her blue eyes hardening. "It is not as if I would have denied you, brother."

Gregori let that hang in the air for a moment, taking another delicate sip of his coffee. His decidedly feline eyes flicked from hers to the snow, and then back again.

"I have found a job." He stated simply. "My employer posted my bail."

"But brother..!"

"_I don't want to talk about it."_He hissed in their native tongue, and Natalyia reared back, fingers defensively rising to her face. _"It's none of your concern!" _(1)

"_It is all of my concern!" _Natalyia nearly shouted, locking eyes with Gregori. _"I have the right to be concerned about you! I'm your sister!"_

Surprisingly, she picked up on their language immediately, despite the fact that she had been speaking Common for years longer than either of them had been speaking their native tongue. Gregori slumped back in his chair, more taken aback that he'd been chastised by his younger sister than anything else.

"_I don't want to talk about it."_He grumbled, as Natalyia let out a small exasperated sigh.

Natalyia rolled her eyes. "_You always were the private one." _She replied, brushing a hand through her honey-colored hair. _"You never let anyone come in under your shell." _

Saturn shrugged. "_Just leave it alone, Natalyia." _

Natalyia placed a gentle hand on Gregori's arm, squeezing tightly. "I do not prefer to see you harmed, again." She replied, switching back to Common.

There came an unpleasant pause, until Natalyia shifted in her chair and took another sip of her coffee. She turned to Gregori.

"Who is this employer with which you have begun to work?"

For a moment, the two siblings stared at each other, both having a silent battle of wills to determine if Gregori would tell Natalyia the truth about Cyrus. In the end, he decided to waylay her concerns; she did not need to be clinging to him the entire time, bothering him about his new job.

Gregori took the last sip of his coffee, draining the dregs down his narrow throat. With a sigh, he primly mopped his upper lip and clasped his sister's hand in his. Training his sparkling eyes to hers, he smiled grimly.

"He's a man with a vision, Natalyia."

_December 16, 2000. _

_Four Rockslide Avenue: Veilstone City Hall_

_Veilstone City._

_1:34 PM_

The snowflakes had taken the opportunity to completely blanket the city in snow by the time Jennifer left City Hall in her limousine, heading for the Mayor's residence to bunk down for the rest of the day. Sighing, she slipped off her heavy boots as her secretary Mary-Jane plunked down in the seat beside her; both women suitably clad in warm coats and long ski pants, although Mayor Stockman had been wearing a pair of heels in her snow boots, for her appearances in City Hall.

The Weather Institute of Hoenn had issued a blizzard alert for Veilstone and the surrounding areas. The branch of the Weather Institute that operated in Sinnoh was based in the telecommunications hub of Jubilife, and had issued the alert straight from their higher-ups in Hoenn, urging all residents to heed the alerts and gather in a safe location.

Of course, the Pokémon Center would remain open to all Trainers taking refuge from the storm, and even as the small limousine struggled through traffic to the Mayor's Residence, Jennifer spotted several different groups of Trainers streaming into the nearby Center. She herself had just finished a radio broadcast urging any who didn't have a place to go to congregate in the Center, or to head even to the Gym. She hoped that her measures would be enough; the public was still grumbling about the loss of the technology building on Granite Street to the Galaxy Corporation, and despite her best efforts, this blizzard would of course cause property damage that would reflect on her policy.

The lavender-ette pinched the bridge of her nose as she tossed off the heels she'd been wearing under her boots, staring blankly ahead through the front window. She mentally reviewed the list of severe weather policies the city enacted: tow trucks and other emergency vehicles were standing by, she'd contacted the surrounding cities for other emergency help, like food and utilities (Pastoria and Hearthome had both been willing to provide) the Gym Leader had been contacted (who would succeed the Mayor in the emergency chain of command)…Jennifer trailed off her mental train of thought. It appeared she had everything prepared.

"Don't worry, Madam Mayor." Mary-Jane piped up at that moment, clutching her ever-present PDA and clipboard with her heavy mittens. "I know that we prepared everything correctly."

The limousine slowed to a crawl, and Jennifer unconsciously glanced up to her room, wondering if the flash of light she saw was really a figment of her imagination.

"By chance….Mary-Jane….did you call for an exterminator…?"

Mary-Jane looked puzzled for a moment, until the meaning fully caught on. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I did call for one this morning. Unfortunately, the service declined to work in this dreadful weather."

Jennifer nodded, understanding the reason but not liking it. "Oh, sure. I understand."

"Ma'am, I'm sure that it will be quite fine." Mary-Jane smiled at the Mayor, displaying even white teeth with just the faintest hint of intervention by adult braces. "Really, I'm sure it will all clear up in time."

Jennifer couldn't help but force a smile at her secretary's chipper personality before hastily putting back on her boots as the limousine rolled to a stop.

At the same time, something deep inside of her didn't like the idea of having to wait one bit.

_December 16, 2000. _

_55 Pyrite Drive_

_Veilstone City_

_4:16 PM_

Henry sighed heavily as he pulled his car into his driveway, parking the cream-colored vehicle with an odd clank in the snowy landscape. The car coughed a couple of times and then died, leaving the Police Chief finally able to hear himself think.

Already, the snow was blowing even harder than it had the night before, and Henry was regretting having to skip his vacation. Very obviously, his girlfriend Shiri had been distraught about missing the famed Sunyshore clubs, and had literally been cursing him from Heatran to Darkrai and back for the last twenty minutes that he had driven back from the office.

Wisely, he'd had his phone off most of the day while he attempted to track down the released convict Gregori Scott. But that hadn't stopped her from calling no fewer than fifteen times, and sending nearly 60 angry text messages. He'd decided to let her get it all out of her system on the drive home from work so that they could comfortably live together for the duration of the blizzard. In hindsight, this may have not been such a great decision, as his ears were still ringing from the ferocity of Shiri's argument. But he knew at least, that when he stepped through the door, she understood that it really wasn't his fault that their vacation was delayed.

Sighing, Henry wrapped his trench coat around his body, making sure it was fastened securely, before opening the door and bolting across the driveway and around the back porch to the door. Banging on it a couple of times, he waited until Shiri appeared at the window before she unlocked the door, hurrying him into the laundry room.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed, slamming the back door against the wind and quickly locking it. "That's strong." She slapped her sock-covered feet on the floor in an attempt to knock off the little bit of snow that had blown into the laundry room.

"Yeah." Henry agreed noncommittally, stamping his boots on the floor to rid them of excess snow. The snow sloshed around them, and Shiri delicately stepped past Henry so her socks wouldn't become completely soaked.

For a moment, she looked out on their small backyard, nearly covered up with three feet of snow already. She turned to her boyfriend, who was in the process of taking off his snow-boots and helped him by freeing him from his coat and scarf, hurriedly placing them across the dryer in the utility room to dry.

"…Shiri….I'm sorry about-" Henry began, beginning to take off the rest of his outer clothes that were wet.

She cut him off with a wave. "Don't worry about it. Look, I know you have responsibilities."

Henry nodded as he enfolded her into his arms, although she quickly pushed away, but not in anger. "You're wet. Go take a hot shower." She commanded lovingly.

"OK." Henry replied, opening the door that led into the house proper.

It was a small house on the outskirts of the urban middle of the city, only two bedrooms with one bath. It wasn't too much, but it was home for both of them.

Henry padded in his socks to their bathroom, noting that Shiri had been watching their TV in the large common room. Magazines and books were scattered about the little room like always, and Henry slipped a bit on the laminate floor as he crossed to the bathroom, before ducking inside and beginning to take a shower.

Shiri stepped quietly into the kitchen adjacent from the living room, peering over the bar-style window that opened into the living room. Directly underneath the window was the couch; Skitty-corner to the couch was Henry's beloved old orange-and-yellow-striped chair, upon which a single Pokémon was sleeping. One eye on the weather reports on the TV, Shiri began boiling water for tea, despite the fact that she should be saving the water.

The man on the TV, from the Weather Institute's branch in Jubilife, was chattering incessantly about how this would be one of the worst storms in recent Sinnoh history. His dapper smile belied the monstrosity of a storm that this was turning out to be, and Shiri cast a cold glance every so often in the TV's direction. Being a native of Snowpoint, Shiri was far too used to blizzards and such to really care about it. But that didn't mean she liked them at all. Sighing, she continued at the task at hand, using her delicate hands to clean up the mess as if it had never existed.

Henry stumbled from the bathroom a few minutes later, thoroughly bundled in a pair of fleece pajamas and big, fuzzy socks. Steam from the hot shower followed, dissipating almost immediately in the cold house. He wandered over to the form of the sleeping Pokémon on his armchair and caressed the top of its head gently as it slumbered.

"You should put him away." Shiri spoke up, startling him from his musings. "It's gonna get really fucking cold later on."

Henry nodded as his girlfriend poured tea into a teapot and gathered cups for the two of them. Running a hand through his shaggy black hair, he swiped a Pokéball off the nearby shelf and swiftly recalled the sleeping creature back into it. Sighing, he placed it back on the shelf before sitting on the couch where Shiri had obviously been reading, her body warmth still clinging to the heavy blanket.

"Let's watch a movie." He remarked, as she sat the teapot down on the end table closest to the front door and the TV. "There's not much else we can do. I'll even let you pick." He added, grinning.

Shiri smiled before darting over to the bookshelf on the adjacent wall where their collection of movies was stored. Popping one in the DVD player, she bounded back over to the couch and snuggled up next to him under the blanket.

Henry groaned as they sipped their tea, listening to the opening credits begin. "No musicals, you _bitch_."

Shiri giggled. "There is nothing wrong with _South of Sevii; _besides, you owe me, Henry Griffin."

Henry smiled as he placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head. "Yes….I owe you a lot."

**Author's Notes: (1)**

Okay. This may seem totally trivial, but it's not to me, and it'll become important later on, so pay attention. First off, it's completely (and possibly deliberately) vague in any sort of canon what type of language is present within the Pokémon World. For all intents and purposes it is Japan, yet this is fundamentally impossible. Here's why. This is fiction, first and foremost, not remotely connected to the real world as it is, right now. The whole Pokémon world can't be Japan, because _there are no Pokémon in Japan. _It's like Japan, but it is NOT Japan. (There are also several geographic disparities, like Evergrande City, based on a city in Greece, that are painfully obvious to prove this point). But that's not the point, I'm getting off topic.

On a side note, I am ignoring the Pokédex mentions of several real world places, including Chile, Australia, China, Antarctica, and several other real-world locations. In fact, as the Games have progressed there have been rewrites of earlier 'Dex entries without the real-world locations included. (For example: Arcanine, but you can do your own research on that).

The closest real world language that the two are speaking is Russian. But it _is not Russian. _It can't be Russian, because there is no Russia! In fact, the citizens are probably pretty clueless about their own countries/regions, because technically only six of them have been discovered. (Yes, I'm including Orre and Fiore). Take for example, Fantina. She's very painfully obviously from France, yet she can't tell you where she's from because her country has no name. It's just that she's "not from the country in which the games are based".

Moving along, there will be several mentions to the other regions, yet I'm trying to stick to game canon as much as possible, so they won't be named. I will be, however, alluding to (possibly more) two languages called Common(what could be considered English; a trading language) and Sinnoh Basic (what the population would have been speaking before interaction with other cultures, like Ancient Egyptian). It's silly to assume that everyone across all the Big Four speak the same language. Obviously, Hoenn, being geographically isolated, by, hey, _an ocean,_would speak a different language than Kanto/Johto. And even citizens of Kanto/Johto would speak a language different from their counterparts across the mountains. (Take Portugal and Spain. They're right next to each other, but they don't speak the same language, do they?) And of course, Sinnoh would have a different language than Kanto/Johto; the example of Fantina proves that! She speaks French!

To wrap this up, they're speaking Russian. But it's not Russian; that's just the closest I could get. I truly apologize that this little explanation turned into a mini-rant; I will curtail such feelings in the future. I will state up front that I am an insane realist. I strive for realism above all else. So it may seem like I'm obsessing over something that's insanely trivial, but that's just how I am. If it's not real to me, it won't feel real to you, and the story falls flat.

Again, thank you dear readers, for all your support.


	7. Night

Okay! I'm back, please forgive me....the internet was down for a couple days and then I had two papers to write last week, so that's why it's been so long. And this weekend was just plain hectic.

Well, here we are with Chapter Seven! More character development...and the penultimate player in this little shindig appears! Some character development, some random stuff happens....just sit back and enjoy, my friends.

DISCLAIMER: It should be apparent that I don't, in fact, own Pokémon; however, not doing this is known to cause cancer in the state of California. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise displayed with permission. All rights reserved; Blake Wilson, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

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__December 17, 2000._

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City_

_1:07 AM _

Gregori stood in the antechamber of Apartment 12, his large fur coat hanging loosely on his shoulders. Gripping a cigarette, he took a long drag and let the nicotine billow about his nose, staring intently out the small window by the door.

The snow was driving relentlessly towards the ground, barely stopping to float towards the pavement, never ceasing in its rush to bundle on the ground. The snow had already claimed five feet from the earth, intruding on the cars and the houses, nearly piling up so much to block the doors.

The power had gone out long ago. Cyrus, by nature a heavy sleeper, hadn't noticed. He was currently slumbering away under a mass of quilts and blankets in his king-size bed.

Gregori, relegated to the couch, was not so lucky. A very light sleeper, he jerked awake every time the apartment groaned or shifted or clinked , unfamiliar noises assaulting his ears and hauling him away from his sleep.

So he decided to smoke and watch the snow fall in flurries to the ground.

His thoughts kept reflecting back to the earlier conversation he'd had with his sister, Natalyia. He knew that he shouldn't keep her in the dark about Cyrus, and his newfound job, but he didn't feel as if she would entirely approve of his actions. There were some things that just needed to be kept secret, and his dear little sister was already too nosy for her own good.

Gregori took a long drag of his cigarette and let the nicotine billow about his nose, where he gently inhaled the dregs.

This was one thing that he liked about the snow; the fact that it was so quiet. As a person, he disliked loud noises. Of course, that had made sleeping during his stint in the pen quite difficult, but Gregori had never really liked sleeping for long periods of time anyway.

As he took another puff of the cigarette, letting it curl about his nostrils, he reflected on his year or so in prison. It wasn't so hard for him to imagine what he'd done to get there (stealing from a department store was one thing, stealing from the government quite another) but he'd always been confused about the reasons they protested his intrusion so vehemently.

He'd been a scientist working on the MarshBadge Experiment: a top secret experiment from the uppermost echelons of the Sinnohsian government. Originally conceived as an experiment to move large quantities of people without the use of Psychic-Type Pokémon; ideally designed for the still-active Sinnohsian army. It had ultimately failed, since the project required massive amounts of energy, which couldn't be easily obtained on a battlefield.

Plus, the first time the Sinnoh Naval Force had tried the machine, the ship had been drastically damaged, and several hundred servicemen and women had been injured or killed. After scuttling the ship, and swearing the Naval Force to secrecy, the project was disbanded. The scientists were warned not to speak of their time in the experiment, but Gregori had ensured the project would live on by stealing most of his classified research.

Gregori wasn't proud of the time and effort he and the twenty-three other scientists had spent on the project, but it wasn't really a waste of his time either. He wasn't….unscrupulous…per se, but he didn't mind working on projects that others considered taboo. He surmised, taking another long drag of his cigarette, that working with Cyrus would be considered _very _taboo. Especially by his sister.

Stubbing out the cigarette that was not quite finished onto the arm of his coat, Gregori sighed and returned to the couch, intent on catching a few hours sleep.

_December 17, 2000. _

_Four Rockslide Avenue, Mayor's Residence_

_Veilstone City_

_3:33 AM_

It was very quiet in the Mayor's bedroom when Jennifer bolted upright in her bed, panting hastily.

The power had gone out, rendering the room dark and cold. It was deathly still, almost as if she was sleeping in a padded mausoleum. The Mayor could see her breath curling in the air, little puffs of warm clouds that were quickly absorbed into the night.

Turning her head from side to side, Jennifer picked up her glasses and crammed them hastily on her face, gazing across the darkened room to see if she could spot the intruder that had awoken her.

"I know you're there!" She snapped clearly to the open room. "Show yourself!"

The darkened room refused to answer her, and Jennifer felt a little silly for yelling for nothing. After taking several calming breaths, she relaxed slightly, mentally telling herself that she had been imaging the little flash of light that jumped from window to the end of her bed.

She slumped back under the covers, bundling down under them to regain that sense that she was safe. Slipping off her glasses, she put them on the nightstand, letting her dull ruby eyes take in the darkness of the room one last time.

It was only a few minutes later when her eyes snapped open of their own accord, and Jennifer felt panic grip her throat. Groggily, her brain tried to wake her, to alert her to whatever her body had sensed was absolute trouble, but Jennifer found it hard to piece any thoughts together.

All that changed when she heard the voice speaking from the dark.

Bolting upright again, the Mayor crammed her glasses back on her face, the slender plastic frames nearly buckling under the force. Gasping for breath, she clutched the blankets around her chest protectively, trying valiantly not to hyperventilate.

Her heart skipped several beats as she took in the sight of the woman standing in front of her; imperious, commanding, cold…familiar.

"Who…who are you?" She asked, voice cracking and wavering up and down the spectrum. Her breath coalesced in the cold air, dissipating quickly into the darkened room.

"_Why, you know me."_

The voice was exactly the same as the voice she'd heard the day before in her office; the face of the woman in front of her was exactly the same as she'd seen in the mirror. It was as if she was the figure standing before her; Jennifer's panicked mind protested that this wasn't true, but another, still quieter voice fought back against her mind.

"No, that's not true, you're not me!" She squeaked.

"_Oh….but I am." _The woman purred, her flashing red eyes boring into the Mayor. 'Her' voice was scratchy and hoarse, as if she was unused to speaking Sinnoh Basic or even Common for that matter. _"I am you and you are me, together what a pair we'll be." _

The words undulated to the tune of a Sinnohsian nursery rhyme, one praying to Cresselia for protection. Jennifer rocked back and forth, feeling as if the woman was grating on her brain itself; a large headache threatened her temples; the Mayor couldn't breathe…

Almost instinctively, she started into the prayer for Cresselia, one that every Sinnohsian was taught since birth. The woman flashed her eyes at the end of the bed and began laughing a high cruel laugh that broke into everything, the Mayor couldn't breathe, her heart leaped to her throat. Their voices mingled and mixed, together to the same beat, each rising in intensity in the deserted room…

"O Cresselia of the moon and light, hear my call, shield me from the darkness-"

"_Come now, that's not going to work! I'm you and you're me-"_

"-the-the darkness that surrounds me, shield me from the night-"

"_-I'm you and you're me, together what a pair we'll be, from mount to tree, you and me-"_

"-save me from the nightmares, save me from the darkness, O Cresselia, bringer of light-!"

"_-we're a pair, aren't we, together now, you and me-!" _

"THAT ISN'T ME!" Jennifer roared, throwing her hand out towards the figure.

The other woman laughed again and dissolved into nothingness as the doors flung open and Mary-Jane broke in, garbed in a long robe, pointing a flashlight wildly. She hurried to the sobbing figure of the mayor as two of her bodyguards began scanning the room for potential intruders, flashlight beams colliding and clashing on the walls.

"That…isn't me…" Jennifer moaned, sagging against the headboard. "…not me….not me…not me….not me…."

_December 17, 2000. _

_North Route 214 _

_6:09 AM_

The snowstorm had abated by the early morning, leaving traffic to resume down the south-bound roads at least. Going north was another matter, but a majority of the travelers in the cars wanted out this time of year, seeking refuge in moderate Pastoria, humid Sunyshore or even vacationing to bustling Canalave and the other regions.

One such traveler was a bulky man driving a mid-sized container truck out of Veilstone and down to Pastoria; he was grumbling profusely at the snow and the icy roads, the temperature, and basically everything in general.

With ear piercings, large tattoos on his arms, and unshaven cheeks, he was not the sort of man one wanted to see in a dark alley. His dark brown eyes took in everything; his muscles made up for his lack of a brain. It was not hard to determine what his job was. It was to follow orders.

His companion in the front seat beside him sat with a smile plastered on her face, humming tunelessly to the headphones blaring in her ears. Every so often, she would tap one of her gloved hands on the dashboard, the door, or anything that struck her fancy, including one very memorable time when she'd tried the gearshift.

Her face was nearly completely hidden by the large hood she wore, concealing all but the very tip of her nose. The man driving hadn't even seen her eyes, but he could feel the intensity that seemed to radiate off her slender frame. A dangerous sort of intensity. He was understandably nervous about the woman his boss had forced him to ride with down to Pastoria, but this would be the quickest way to increase his position in the gang. With any luck, after this job was over (and it was such a simple job too!) he'd move up to being able to do more beside carry stuff. Bigger stuff. Stuff like whacking people.

The tough grinned slightly, the movement hidden in this thick beard. His body shivered suddenly, and he ran a gloved hand over his bare arms in an attempt to warm them up.

"By Cressel, can't this fucking heater work right!" He groused, pounding on the heater that was currently blowing cold air into the cramped cabin of the truck. Slamming a fist onto the offending machine, the thug gave up and decided to slump against his door, one hand stroking the back of his neck not covered by a beanie and the other gripping the wheel violently. "Piece of shit….last time I get saddled with one of these Hippowdons…most worthless truck I've ever driven…."

His companion let out a mirthful peal of laughter, and she flicked her gaze to him and then back at the crowded road in front of them.

"You know, it's not the truck's fault." She nodded sagely. "Common Motors stock has dropped recently, culminating in a historic fourth quarter loss of 17%. To answer your question, Padawan, the manufacturer has not been producing as they should, due to competition from Kanto Automotive."

The thug rolled his eyes, grateful that the action was hidden by a pair of sunglasses from the odd woman beside him. His bare arms shivered however, and he shifted to make his fur-trimmed leather vest pretend to cover his shoulders a bit better.

"Yeah, whatever." He grumbled. "As much as the Hippowdons are pieces of shit, you'll never catch me driving one of them prissy imports. I could crush all of those plastic cars with one hand!"

To emphasize, he thrust a hulking paw towards the windshield, cackling a little bit. With the other, he twitched the wheel as they rounded a curve in the road and slipped a bit on the ice. It was easy to regain their bearings…they did not slip.

His companion laughed again, a high grating laugh that was very girlish and breathy. Out of the corner of his eye, the thug noted her hand twitch forward again; raising himself slightly, he relaxed as she traced the simple logo of the carmaker emblazoned on the passenger airbag.

"CM." she stated to the cold cabin. "Common Motors. Now second in overall production worldwide thanks to Kanto Automotive's clever Spearow Hybrid Concept. Sells like Honey, my friend, it sells like Honey."

The thug grumbled again as they trundled over the open plain of Route 214, rapidly approaching the tunnel. "Yeah, sure. Common Motors behind Kanto Automotive? Like that'll ever happen."

His companion laughed again, hidden behind her hood. "It has happened, Padawan."

The truck slowed to a crawl as they approached the line of vehicles waiting to pay their toll and drive through the Route 214 tunnel. Commonly called Ruined Tunnel, due to Pastoria City's lackadaisical upkeep, the tunnel sloped gently down from Veilstone Plateau all the way to the coast of Pastoria. Instead of building a complicated system of bridges to span the steep drop, or a winding mountain road that would limit travel to only one lane, a compromise was reached between Pastoria and Veilstone to build a tunnel. An engineering masterpiece, the tunnel dove into the earth under the plateau, and through a rather scenic series of switchbacks and turns, opened onto the Marsh and then led to Pastoria and the sea.

"Aw, come on!" The driver grumbled as he saw the long line of cars awaiting the tool. "Darkrai's scrawny legs, we're already behind schedule!" He laid on the horn a couple of times, letting the tiny car in front of them feel the blast of the airhorns.

"Don't worry." She replied to the tough. "We'll get to where we're supposed to be on time."

With that, she continued to listen to her headphones, nodding her head to the beat.


	8. Innocence

HAY GUESS WHAT? Update, cool beans. Anyway. Slow chapter, yet necessary. Plot development, awfully tricky blighter that it is.

And now for something completely different. Check my profile for my complete updating schedule, because I'm rearranging and changing stuff up in preparation for rotating in new fics/fics that haven't been updated in like, years. **GG** is moving to bi-weekly; again, full sched is on my profile. Thanks guys! Y'all are awesome.

Disclaimer: HAPPY FREAKIN' CHRISTMAS I don't own anything but this story and the disctinct assorted background characters, as well as the specific characterizations of the canon characters and a new phone, finally. 

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December 17, 2000

_55 Pyrite Drive_

_Veilstone City_

_9:56 AM_

Henry and Shiri were both awakened the next morning by the shrill ringing of the Police Chief's cell phone. Groggily, the two disentangled themselves from the covers and shifted, Henry poking an arm out from the warm haven and groping blindly for the phone.

After several tries, he made it, and placed the BlukBerry knock-off to his ear with a grunt. "Yeah." He grumbled into the phone, knowing that only one person would dare call him this early.

"Good morning, Chief."

Henry groaned again and checked the bedside table for the time, seeing that it was nearly 10. "What?" He grunted back in response, feeling Shiri shift in her dozing slumber.

"We've managed to find Mr. Scott, sir." Valerie replied in her brisk, yet tender, voice. "With the new camera tracking system we've found him."

"Good." Henry grunted.

"You didn't need to worry at all, sir." Valerie replied through the speaker with a hint of a smug tone. "I will personally be bringing him back into custody."

"Right, Lieutenant." Henry replied hoarsely. "A full report on my desk by Monday."

"Of course, sir. Enjoy your time off, sir, I've got things covered here."

Henry hung up the phone without any further pleasantries, knowing that his First Lieutenant didn't require any. Shoving his phone as far away from the bed as he could, he rolled over and spooned himself against Shiri, inhaling the scent of her hair gently.

She sighed and tucked herself closer to his body, feeling his hands underneath hers, sliding gently on the bed in the early morning. Breathing deeply, Shiri slipped back into slumber.

_December 17, 2000_

_43 Malachite Avenue, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City_

_9:56 AM_

Gregori hummed to himself as he moved around in the kitchen, gathering a kettle here, a utensil there. It complemented his work; as the pitch rose he would gracefully swoop for the cabinet fetching a mug, as the melody softened, he pour the water at a slower, more subdued rate.

It was cold in Cyrus's kitchen. The man was fanatical at denying himself any emotion, and as such the heater in the apartment was off, rendering the place very chilly. The blue-nette could almost see his breath in the air as he moved around, his coat hanging limply from his frame.

He was used to this, however; coming from the region above Sinnoh, as far north as one could get, had adapted his body to the cold. For generations his family had lived above Sinnoh in their cold little region, eking out a simple existence by growing and breeding Ice-Type Pokémon to sell down to the warmer regions. It was simple and not very rewarding. His family had once been influential, but as generations passed their properties fell into ruin, his village drying up as people moved south. His grandfather and mother had lived through this squalor, and would probably never escape it, continuing their simple lifestyle.

In fact, he and Natalyia had been the first of his poor family to move away from their village, both noted for their brilliance in science and mathematics, respectively.

As such, he was humming the lullaby that his mother and grandmother had taught him, a simple tune that asked for forgiveness from the moon-side goddess. His home region was close enough to Sinnoh to receive most of its myths, and the village he'd grown up in was more than superstitious enough to make sure that the lullaby was engraved in his head.

Not surprisingly, it was similar to what could be heard in the children's rhyme that all Sinnohsians were taught. The main difference was that the Sinnohsians asked Cresselia for protection; Gregori asked for forgiveness.

From what exactly, he didn't know. It wasn't actually something he bothered himself with, nor considered. But he hummed the tune anyway, silently praying in his head that Cresselia would forgive him his transgressions.

The kettle whistled as the water heated itself to the right temperature for his cocoa, blowing steam visibly into the cold kitchen. Rubbing his slender fingers together, he wrapped a potholder around the kettle and brought it off the burner, pouring the steaming liquid into the waiting mug. Deftly dropping the crystalline flakes of the chocolate into the mug, he inhaled deeply, letting the aroma waft about the kitchen and, primarily, into his lungs.

Natalyia had always lectured him that the smoking would destroy his sense of smell, but so far, Gregori was still able to inhale the wonderful aroma of his cocoa. A delicacy his family had not often indulged in, Gregori had resolved to steal some of Cyrus's unused stash as soon as he had awoken very early that same morning.

He gently and gracefully sat down at the small table in the kitchen, cradling the garishly colored mug in his slender hands. From this vantage point, he couldn't see the combined living/dining, nor could he see the little door that opened to the rest of the world. As such, he missed the tiny shape dart behind him and hover uncertainly in the middle of the room; at least, until a crash jolted him from his thoughts and he jumped up, fingers reluctantly leaving the refuge of his warm mug.

Clutching a Pokéball that was buried deep in the pockets of his coat, he looked around, instinctively putting up his mental barriers to keep out any inquiring telepathic probes. Cautiously peering around the corner into the living room, he was met by a curious sight.

A purple creature was aimlessly drifting about the living room; the crash apparently caused by a light bulb that was separated from its lamp socket and lying in pieces on the floor. Gregori relaxed slightly, but he kept his hand clenched tightly on the Pokéball in his pocket. Hesitantly stepping into the room, he cleared his throat pointedly.

The reaction was immediate. The creature whirled, shock plastered on its garishly contorted features. It opened its mouth for a second, gaping like a Goldeen, clearly fighting within itself for a course of action. Before either of them could do anything, it narrowed its eyes and waggled its head, and then it vanished into thin air.

Gregori was just as surprised by the creature's response; within moments the thing seemed to collapse inside of itself and vanish from view; Gregori looked around for the intruder when he felt something very solid connect with his back; crying out in pain, he fell to the ground, twisting to avoid falling on his injured left arm.

He was mildly startled to see that the purple creature was floating above him, peering at him curiously. He lay sprawled on the floor, coat askance, the tape binding his left arm to his side clearly visible. Biting back a stream of curses, he raised the Pokéball threateningly, mainly as a deterrent to the purple creature more than of actual use. Blinking away tears, Gregori saw the creature shrink back in cowardice. It hovered nervously on the floor as if it had been caught red-handed stealing cookies.

"_Mis…mismagius?" _It asked him haltingly, peering from behind the table leg.

If his ribcage wasn't screaming in pain, Gregori might have felt sorry for the thing. He lowered the Pokéball, tucking back inside of his large fur coat.

"You're not so bad are you?" He asked, sitting up, trying valiantly to ignore the pain radiating from his side. Stumbling, he rose to his feet and sat back down at the table in front of his cocoa. Taking several calming breaths, he focused and the pain seemed to dissipate as he focused his attention on other pursuits. "Although… you're a tricky little fucker. I won't hurt you."

The creature, which Gregori figured was a Mismagius, peered comically over the lip of the table, acting like the man couldn't see the elaborate crest of its forehead that rose nearly a foot over its little face. It blinked a couple of times as Gregori took a couple of nonchalant sips of his cocoa, pointedly ignoring the creature. Then, it pulled its body incrementally over the table's edge until finally it was floating at eye-level with the slender man.

Gregori flicked his slender eyes at the creature, raising one eyebrow as the two made contact. After a few heartbeats that felt very much like an examination, the Mismagius cackled and swooped playfully in a circle.

Gregori chuckled, piercing the steam above his mug with a gentle exhalation. "Now that's decided, why are you here?"

The Ghost-Type stopped. Gregori could see that it was very clearly conflicted again. It hovered nervously, an expression of sadness playing about its face. For a second, the slender man set down his mug and looked the Pokémon over, curiosity most evident in his deep blue eyes.

"Ah…you're not supposed to be here, are you?"

The Mismagius shook its head sadly, lowering a couple of inches towards the table in subservience. Gregori got the distinct impression that if it had feet, it would be shuffling them back and forth; a child being chastised.

He let out a simple grunt of acknowledgement, before raising his mug to his lips again and taking a sip. After a few moments, as the Mismagius regarded him fearfully, Gregori set his mug back on the table with a gentle clunk.

"It'll be our little secret, eh?" He replied with a smirk.

The Mismagius let out a cheerful cackling noise and rushed over to the man's form, rubbing its pointed crest against the man's arm in a cheerful way. It let out a cackling sound that Gregori could have sworn was a purr, and he chuckled as he patted the elaborate crest atop its head.

"So…who do you belong to?" He asked, but the Ghost-Type shrank back in terror.

It mewled in fright and vanished on the spot, and Gregori looked around in confusion.

A loud curse came from the other part of the otherwise-empty apartment, and the blue-nette heard Cyrus toiling around in his bedroom, grouchily searching for something.

Gregori looked behind him interestedly, hearing Cyrus bang around in his room. Snorting in understanding, he took a gentle, prim sip of his cocoa, letting the warm liquid slid down his narrow throat.


	9. Feign

Wow, been a while, hasn't it? I truly apologize, gentle readers, about the extreme lateness of my updating; I have no excuse besides I was busy! Too busy. But I'm back now. I will be sticking to the program I've already put forth concerning the updates...or I will do my extreme best. If I have to go to two days a week I might....not for this one though. But anywho.

One thing though, and this is very serious, and I need your opinion. I am concerned about the rating of this fanfiction...I'm thinking that I may have to bump it up to an 'M'. But I'm not sure if it entirely qualifies as an 'M' rated story, but I definately don't want to get kicked off the site. (Call me paranoid if you must). Anyway, I really am in need of a decision. Please PM me with your thoughts.

Thank you.

d4, THIS ONE'S FOR YOU! LOVE YA LOTS!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blake Wilson, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

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_December 17, 2000_

_Ruined Tunnel_

_Almost to Pastoria Great Marsh_

_2:37 PM_

It had been one of the longest trips to Pastoria the tough had ever seen. With traffic backed up beyond the Plateau and the Tunnel, a trip that should only have taken a couple of hours had so far taken five.

The heater still wasn't working, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the tough driving the Hippowdon. Despite the fact that Pastoria's climate was tempered by the Plateau, which kept the cooler air funneled to the north, this was not to say it was any warmer. The Marsh cooled the air considerably, and the trade winds from the sea forced the temperature lower this time of year.

"By Cressel, we're late." He growled, gunning the container truck through the last set of switchbacks until he could almost see the sunlight the led onto the Marsh. "Fucking traffic, fucking road, fucking heater, fucking truck…"

The woman shifted in the seat beside him and giggled slightly, and the tough grimaced. She hopefully wouldn't give him a bad report to his boss; whom he had been trying to gain favor with all this time. This was his last assignment; he'd be able to move up from a simple delivery man to other jobs within the mob.

And that was all too good. The pay would increase dramatically, and the tough would have enough to be able to spend a weekend at the clubs in Sunyshore, hopefully even enough for a couple of hookers as well. He grinned despite the cold and then cursed again as the gearshift stuck.

"Trouble, Padawan?" the woman asked, breaking the silence of the cab.

The tough shifted gears, downgrading as he took the final curve from the Tunnel and out onto the Marsh. He took a moment to make sure that he could think of the best answer; after all, this woman would report to the boss.

"Uh, no…I'm just a little tired." He replied uneasily, his hands automatically jerking forward and backwards on the clutch and the gearshift.

The woman laughed her creepy breathy laugh. "Good. Pull over at that rest stop, I need to pee."

The tough rolled his eyes as they exited the Tunnel for good, shivering despite the false warmth of the sunshine on the open Marsh plain, peeling off from the main road to glide smoothly to a stop at the rest area. With a mighty sigh, the Hippowdon's engine ground to a halt, and the woman exited the truck with a quick crash of the door against the side of the Hippowdon. She crossed the parking lot with a sort of feline grace, despite her rush, and it wasn't long before she disappeared into the restroom, not once looking back at the truck.

The tough stepped from the cab, relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs. Nonchalantly, he tossed open a cigarette pack and extracted one, relishing the feel of the tobacco in his fingers. Yes, today was his day. Nothing could go wrong.

_December 17, 2000. _

_55 Pyrite Drive_

_Veilstone City_

_2:40 PM_

"Okay, okay. Who was the actor who played Brett Rhutler in _Gone with the Whirlwind?"_

"Um…Gary Crant."

"Wrong! It was Lark Cable!"

Henry let out a noise of disbelief as he threw his hands into the air. "Aw, come on! I told you no musicals!"

Shiri grinned as she clutched the card containing the right answer in her hand. "You only say that because you're losing." She chuckled, leaning across the coffee table.

Henry smirked, a lewd grin playing across his face. "Oh, but you'll still get some."

Their kiss was hasty and sloppy, and Shiri pulled back out of it first with a wink. "Loser, loser…okay…ooh! Here's a romantic comedy question!"

The two were playing yet another board game, finding that neither one of them could go anywhere until the snowplow came around to their house. The snow had piled up to five feet, something the emergency weatherman on the radio was claiming was a new Veilstone record.

Henry didn't really care; he was enjoying the few hours he had off until Valerie was able to wrangle the snowplow to hit up Pyrite Drive and free up the Chief of Police. Once it did however, he would take the lone Pokémon he had in his Pokéball and travel again to the station; he would not be getting any vacation this weekend.

Valerie had hit a snag.

_December 17, 2000. _

_4 Rockslide Avenue_

_Mayor's Residence_

_3:07 PM_

"Mary-Jane, did you contact Pastoria? They said their trucks would be arriving to help snowplow. And provide emergency service."

Mayor Stockman paced back and forth in the Mayor's mansion, doing her best not to fidget. It had stopped snowing, but there was no sign of any snowplows and other heavy equipment that Pastoria promised to Veilstone. She struck up a quick rhythm; her heels clicking on the floor.

"Madam Mayor, the lines are down." Mary-Jane replied, adjusting her glasses. "There's nothing we can do to get in touch with them."

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Of course…."

She was worried about how this would affect her career yet again. Her campaign was declining steadily downhill, especially after how she had lost the Technology Building on Granite Street to the Galaxy Corporation. Her opponent had noticed this. Every attack that he'd leveled at the Mayor was about this building. About how her interests were much more aligned with the big corporations of the city instead of the people (everyone, however, neglected to mention the massive cleanup operation she'd instigated to lower crime and redesign the Gaming District). Without this noted fact, her ratings were dropping faster than a stone off the Veilstone Bluffs.

Councilman Tory Barker was no fool. And Mayor Jennifer Stockman's ratings were plummeting at the polls.

"Ma'am, if I may…?" Mary-Jane's coolly polite voice interrupted Jennifer's troubled musings about her poll ratings. "I think something has happened." She proffered the radio that was sitting on the desk in front of her, tapping against it with a pen. Her face contorted from confusion to a worried frown.

"What..?"

The Mayor leaned on one of the corners of her desk, folding her arms about her suit. The tiny radio broadcasting on the emergency channels began talking loudly that something had happened on Route 214, something catastrophic.

Intently, Jennifer listened to the tinny voice crying out on the radio. She locked a horrified gaze with her blonde assistant, both sets of eyes widening in fear and confusion.

"Oh, no.…!"

_December 17, 2000. _

_Route 214 Rest Stop 2_

_Outside Great Pastoria Marsh_

_2:49 PM._

The tough checked his watch for the third time in twenty minutes, flicking his fourth cigarette out the window of the truck cab. Above him, the sun belied more of its false warmth to the Earth's surface below; taunting its subjects.

"45 degrees Moltregrade…" the tough noted, reading the truck's internal thermometer. "Fucking heater…Darkrai's scrawny legs…HEY! We're gonna be late!" He added to the world-at-large, vaguely shouting in the general direction of the brick restrooms.

Inside the restroom, his female companion was hunched in one of the stalls, the hood of her parka thrown behind her. She was sweating profusely; each drop that threatened to spill from her forehead she quickly brushed away in a jerky action.

"Late, late, for a very important date." She whispered to herself. Another drop of sweat, this one on the tip of her slender nose, another swipe that detracted from what she was doing. Her hands shook. Her legs bounced hurriedly up and down. "Cressel help me from Darkrai, I'm gonna be late."

She was listening, not to a mundane song, but to a recording on her music player. The frenetic pace of her arms and legs were trying to keep pace with the man's droning voice on the recording. She needed a lot of help for her current project: the little thing she was building in her lap.

Hurriedly, she was instructed to open the left pocket of her pastel blue jacket. She extracted the necessary components and rapidly began attaching them to the half-built apparatus she had in her lap. The wires weren't supposed to stick out like that, but she'd have to make do. She was trying to break land/speed records, not obtain ultimate precision or aesthetics. She opened the right upper pocket and began attaching the wires from the bottom right pocket to a tiny sprocket. Then she pulled from the bottom right and stuck the doo-jiggy to the sprocket in between the wires. The voice in her ears told her she was almost done; a whatsit from the outermost left pocket and the thing was finished. She hurried to unclip the music player from her ears, shoving the headphones into the toilet underneath her and flushing it. With a final snap, the music player disappeared in the mass of wires underneath the whatsit, plugged by the wires into the sprocket. The voice on the recording had told her she now had two minutes after she plugged the music player into the device, which was accomplished by a small headphone jack stuffed under the sprocket, whatsit and doo-jiggy.

Stuffing the apparatus under her coat, she unlocked the door to the stall and brushed her hair back, making sure the hood was completely covering her face. In doing so, she caught sight of the mirror across from her; luckily enough, her shockingly red hair and dull red eyes were completely hidden by a white wig and gold-colored contacts. Tucking the apparatus closer to her body, she stomped out of the room, feeling a bit of bile rise into her throat; something her male companion couldn't see.

"By Cressel, took ya long enough!" the thug grimaced as she got back in the cab of the truck. With a grimace and a grunt, he shifted the truck into gear and merged back onto the road.

"Padawan."

The thug responded to the odd moniker the woman had given him, leaning heavily on the window he flicked a gloved finger at her in acknowledgment.

"Turn around, now." She stated tonelessly.

He scoffed, shifting the truck into a higher gear as the truck turned back onto the freeway. "What the fuck is your problem? Why the hell would we turn around?"

He had grown suffieciently comfortable with her to be able to use such colloquial language; after all, he _did_ have a schedule to keep. And his odd companion was not going to keep him from such a task that would improve his standings with his boss.

For the first time, the woman shifted, unzipping her coat. She turned to the thug, locking her strangely golden eyes on him. He followed the curve of her arm, trying not to leer too much at her chest, and saw the apparatus in her coat. His breath hitched in his throat, and he gagged a little, trying to regain a mouthful of air. Bile threatened to spill from his lips and he choked it back, eyes wide in surprise. Instinctively, he braked, but not too much to overextend the uneasy rapport they'd established.

"A…bomb…" He stated. A cold feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what she was planning to do, but he decided to go along with her and stay alive. Downshifting, the tough exiting the road at the nearest exit, intent on turning around and heading back to Veilstone. "But…why?"

His voice was neither cold nor full of its usual bravado. Of course he hadn't been stupid enough to completely trust her, but he didn't plan on the bitch bringing a _bomb_.

She zipped up her coat again, pulling the hood back over her face. The tough didn't notice the leery, feral smile on the woman's lips as she clutched the apparatus under her coat. "What did you expect? Flowers?"

The tough shook his head nervously, turning around the truck and pointing it back in the direction of Veilstone. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, and Cresselia was smiling upon him, he would survive.

"Good choice, Padawan." The woman said, fingers happily playing with the zip on her coat to cover her internal nervousness. "We'll go down in history!" She added in a sing-song voice.


	10. Blow

Oh, hello. Bet you weren't expecting this, were you? :D

Updates to _Galaxy Gang _will resume; monthly at the very least. I'm hoping you enjoy it; I've gotten a lot of praise and whatnot for it. Thank you for reading.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

* * *

_December 17, 2000_

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City _

_3:07 PM_

Gregori was polishing the tops of the two Pokéballs in his possession when Cyrus stomped into the room, seating himself in his chair in the dining room. He barely took notice of his subordinate until one of the Pokéballs slipped from his slender grasp, and crashed to the floor. It turned in midair and hit the release button on the front, and with the customary rush of light and noise, formed into a Pokémon.

It looked from Gregori to the apartment before finally settling on Cyrus, blinking rapidly. Before either of the two humans could react, it darted behind Gregori's chair, mewling pitifully.

Gregori clucked at it, striking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "_Shhh, shhh, little one." _He spoke to it soothingly in his native tongue, as Cyrus stopped whatever he was doing on his computer setup, looking interestedly to the Pokémon and Gregori. _"Buck up, now…that's a lad." _

Cyrus stared icily at the little creature in front of him, who was chittering happily at Gregori's touch. Wheels turned in his brain, hidden behind his pale face and sunken eyes.

"A Sneasel?"

"_Yes-_I mean, yes- sir." Gregori corrected himself, patting the Sneasel thoughtfully on the head. "He has only been hatched three months, sir."

Cyrus scratched his chin thoughtfully as Gregori patted the creature, smoothing back its dark navy fur and two ferociously pink head-feathers. The creature tittered lowly, enjoying the attention. Cyrus snorted, checking the weather and generally ignoring his companion, until his BlukBerry buzzed impatiently.

Casting a glance at it, he saw that some sort of disturbance had registered on the Net, which his organizer was programmed to scout for. Checking the preliminary scans from the PDA, he saw that police and Pokémon Ranger scanners were lighting up about something that had happened on Route 214. Tapping impatiently with one finger on the mouse of his computers, he looked from the PDA to Gregori.

"Scott." He rasped, startling the blue-nette, who was petting the Sneasel in his lap. "I've got a job for you."

_Route 214_

The thug gripped the steering wheel fiercely. His breathing was ragged; trying to keep himself in check was taking most of his faculties, save for the little portion of his brain screaming at him to escape. He kept stealing covert glances to the woman on the seat beside him, trying not to be so obvious about it.

She was sitting demurely, hands in her lap. Without the distraction of the radio, she seemed to have quieted all the nervous energy she had on the first trip down. Her head was again covered by the outlandish hood, concealing all features but the very tip of her nose.

Now that they were headed back to Veilstone, the thug was trying to remember all possible details about the girl so he could turn her over to his boss. His boss would not be pleased. The woman was not at first assigned to travel with him, the truck, and its containers to Pastoria; he was instead scheduled to travel with an upper-level thug, a friend of his, who would report favorably to the boss and earn the thug a higher rate of pay. Now it was all blown to Nightmare (1). And the boss would not be pleased. If the tough managed to escape this, he'd have a hard time explaining his involvement. And Darkrai's scrawny legs! Was his buddy gonna get it.

"Fuckin' jerk." He muttered before he could stop himself, finally able to dart across the median and merge back into traffic for Veilstone. He immediately tensed, as the woman cocked her head to the side, the hood of her parka rustling quietly.

"Trouble, Padawan?"

"Uh…no ma'am." He replied smoothly and automatically. He didn't put any sort of feeling into the words, slipping unconsciously back to the manner of speech required by the Sinnoh Volunteer Defense Forces, which the tough had served a two-year stint with. It was easy speech that required no more for him to keep his head down and focus on the task at hand. "No trouble at all, ma'am."

She grinned pleasantly. "Good. Stop here, please."

The tough pulled the truck out onto the small shoulder just under the shadow of the Ruined Tunnel. Idling roughly, the thug and the Hippowdon was rewarded by a couple of angry honks from people behind him as they maneuvered around him, heading back to Veilstone, and he was certain that the stares would soon attract some form of police intervention, be it from the Rangers or a traffic cop patrolling the road.

Glancing hastily out the rearview mirror, he was startled when his companion shuffled and shifted, unzipping her coat.

"Padawan," she grunted, pulling the bomb out from under her coat, "be a dear and hold this for me. If you don't let go, it won't go off, promise you."

The thug uncharacteristically squeaked as she shoved the bomb into his lap, showing him where to pinch to hold the starter from striking the military-grade explosives buried deep within the shell casings. He recognized the explosive as C4, an explosive that was small enough to be portable in this matter, but still packed enough power to blow him and the truck to Nightmare-Come. He was so surprised that he missed the woman slipping out of the cab until he heard the door slam and the cab rock a little bit. Breath catching in his throat, he felt his body shake with nervousness. He couldn't even call for help from his radio. He couldn't flag down a passing car.

"Shit!" He openly cursed. Without even realizing it, he unconsciously began reciting a nursery rhyme his mother had taught him, praying for divine intervention from Cresselia. He wasn't sure if his prayers would be answered (as the new moon had passed last week) but it was his only alternative. "O Cresselia, bringer of the moon and light…"

He stopped as he heard a strange beeping noise emitting from inside the shell of the bomb. Frowning, he turned it over as much as he dared, trying not to jostle it too much. As he stared around, he saw what looked to be the view-screen of an MP3 player. Although it was darkened, he could almost make out the recording that was inexplicably playing on the thing.

The thug squinted at the name of the song. "_Countdown._" He mused, inwardly thinking that it was a coincidental name for a song to be playing at this moment. "Wait…it's only got 5 seconds left into the song…Cress-!"

_Route 214_

_A couple of minutes earlier _

The woman smirked as she smugly congratulated herself on another job well done. Zipping her coat back up, she jogged primly to the forest on the side of the road, making sure she'd hidden all the incriminating evidence of herself within the truck. This included her wig and contacts, all the components to the bomb (which was now kind of a moot point)… anything that could lead investigators of the crime back to her.

Granted, the only witness to the crime was, now, effectively silenced.

"Oooh! That was a lot of fun, wasn't it, Snookums?"

The woman turned to the creature sitting beside her, a lean, sinewy purple feline with a smug countenance that matched her master's. She regarded the world with clear blue eyes, tufts of fur falling over the forehead. Mewling in agreement, she nodded as the woman patted her on the head between matching large ears of white.

"And aren't you the cutest Glameow in the world, Snookums?" The woman cooed, rubbing the creature fondly. "And who helps momma out when she does her little trickies? That's right, it's all you!"

Knowing that time was limited, the woman pulled out the peculiar object she'd found buried inside one of the containers that the truck had been carrying. Tucking it into one of the spacious pockets in her coat, she grinned happily, her dangerous smile playing about on her lips.

"Well, we're off to see the Wiz now, eh?" She asked the feline, as they began to walk away from the main road. "And it was so much fun, really! I hope we get to do that again."

She and the feline burst through the trees to find the real Route 214-the one used by Trainers traveling the region. It was a little more than a dirt path compacted by years of people walking on it, etching a permanent smear across the landscape. Well removed from the pavement, it both ensured none of the Trainers would get run over and also provided a clear path from town to town. The woman would use this path to walk the few miles to the last Pokémon Center on route to Pastoria, where she'd find passage back to Veilstone. She saw a couple of other Pokémon on the path, but they quickly darted back into the brush, avoiding her presence. Glameow purred contentedly as she followed her master along the path, looking around with dark, intelligent eyes.

"Come along, Snookums!" She gaily simpered to the Pokémon trotting at her feet. "Momma's got to make a phone call, and get the nice man to come pick us up! And then we'll go home."

She had barely taken more than another ten steps before a raw explosion cut through the late afternoon air, echoing loudly off the Plateau and the forest. Local wildlife cawed, shrieked and cried in alarm, and the sound of a couple of autos smashing into each other followed the initial blast.

The woman grinned.


	11. Out Cold

Ohey, look! An update! And it's _snowing! _

Not IRL, though. It freaking snowed back home in Texas, but not where I got to school, which is several hours _north _of my home...aggravating. I digress. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

* * *

_December 17, 2000_

_Pyrite Drive_

_Veilstone City _

_3:20 PM_

Henry was finally relieved to see the snowplow trundle up the street, stopping expectantly in front of his house. Nodding, he slipped on his lean brown overcoat and bid a hasty farewell to Shiri. Clomping out the front door, he stepped through the slush and the snow on his front lawn, taking wide steps to minimize the amount of moisture that would accumulate on his pants. Heavy boots clanging on the side-grille of the machine, he hoisted himself up and plunked down in the cabin of the vehicle, waving back at Shiri.

His girlfriend scowled from the front door. She shut it hastily against the cold, and Henry put her from his mind. Turning, he looked expectantly to Valerie sitting beside him as the operator of the snowplow shifted into gear and began to move down the street. The two bounced and wiggled on the seat in time with the aging machine's clanks and groans.

"Val." Henry shouted hoarsely over the loud noise of the engine. "What was so important?"

The young woman, bundled deeply in a regulation-blue overcoat and earmuffs, clutched the arm of the seat as they pushed back onto the street that had been cleared. She coughed hastily. "Sir, I lost track of Scott."

Henry blinked owlishly, wagging his head back and forth. "You didn't."

Valerie could only nod, biting the inside of her lip. She gripped the arm of the chair, bouncing as the chains on the tires drove on the pavement and crushed the fresh snow beneath them.

"Darkrai's scrawny legs!" Henry cursed. "How the _fuck_ did that happen? Val, you don't _do _shit like that. You get it done. No questions asked. And you mean to tell me that you lost him?" He screamed hoarsely, banging a fist against the door in anger. The glass vibrated dangerously as they took a curve, and the truck jostled again.

"Hey, what the fuck!" The operator of the truck looked back at the two of them. "Cut that shit out, man! She's old."

Henry flashed his eyes in anger but let the reproach slide. "Sorry." He turned back to his subordinate, making sure she heard him clearly. "Lieutenant," he snapped, again emphasizing her rank, "you may very well find yourself demoted for this. And you can be _damn _well sure that this is going on your record."

Valerie nodded, her aquamarine hair nodding behind her. "Yes sir; I completely understand, sir."

Henry softened at that. He was never able to stay mad at her for very long. Valerie was just too good at her job for that. Besides, he threatened to demote her at least three times a day, if not more. She had stopped taking the threat too seriously after the first couple months of his tenure as the Police Chief.

"Okay." Henry finally replied, rubbing his eyes with the heavy Mareep-wool mittens. "We'll get through this. As soon as communications are up, I want a broadcast put on RangerNet's scanners. We need to find him, wherever he went."

Valerie rubbed the back of her neck nervously, a habit that Henry did not miss.

"Sir," she began.

He sighed, visibly deflating his lanky body. "Spit it out, _Lieutenant."_

"Well, that may complicate matters…I'll let you see that when we get to the hospital."

Henry focused his eyes on the snow-covered road in front of them, letting his black and bushy eyebrows waggle up and down in unison. Frowning, he brought one hand up and scraped it across the stubble on his chin as he thoughtfully studied for his next course of action.

_December 17_

_55 Avenue B, University of Sinnoh at Jubilife_

_Jubilife City _

_4:26 PM_

He walked with a stooped gait, like half of his body was paralyzed and the other half was overcompensating for this tragedy. He had a slothful face and a body soft from years of decadence and little physical activity. Pale pink hair, thinning badly on the top, capped a shiny crown of aged wrinkles and a pair of red half-moon glasses perched on his nose.

His name was Professor Charles B. Chokecherry, and he was a biologist.

When he entered the room, people immediately noticed him. This was not due to a dynamic personality, or a brash demeanor. It was because Dr. Chokecherry stunk like the raspy scent of ozone, the peculiar tang that lingers from a lightning strike. He wheezed when he talked and gasped when he didn't. Charles was just the type of person who got under your skin and stayed there, festering, as one wished to be anywhere but in his presence.

The Champion of Sinnoh, newly elected, was sitting in back of the lecture hall, waiting for Dr. Chokecherry to begin his lecture. She had her legs crossed casually, hands folded demurely in her lap. She had completely ignored the open stares of the other people in the room. It wasn't often someone of her status visited for a lecture—in fact, this had been the first time a Champion had even been to the University to do anything besides campaigning or an exhibition match.

Her name was Cynthia Delacroix. She was a beauty of a woman; a sloping forehead lead to a pair of sharp gray eyes, and plump breasts and shapely hips completed her tall, model-worthy and thin physique. Under the cascading blond locks that flowed naturally from her scalp to nearly her waist, she carried an intelligent mind. Calculating. She scrutinized her opponents with her pale gray eyes and her sharp gaze.

She was sitting alone in the back right row, two impressively built male bodyguards standing behind her and at the end of the rows. There was idle chatter as people gawked in their seats, looking at the Champion, and idle chatter as people discussed the subject of the lecture.

Cynthia shifted in her chair. She was impatient for the lecture to begin. As she was on the verge of leaning over and asking one of the two bodyguards the time, the lights dimmed, and a hunched old man shuffled to the podium in the middle of the stage.

"Good afternoon, folks," he wheezed by way of introduction. "My name is Professor Charles B. Chokecherry."

_December 17_

_Pastoria City Docks_

_5:18 PM_

She was sitting atop the back of a bench, feet splayed out on the arms, with her hood thrown back. Glameow was curled between the girl's legs, purring contently in her half-sleep. The Catty Pokémon wasn't going to go to a full sleep in the open like this; however, she was dimly resting and paying attention to what was going on.

The girl had a new pair of headphones in her hears, listening to her actual mp3 device. She was flipping through a glossy magazine. Every so often she'd pop her bubble gum loudly, turn a page, glare at someone, giggle, then go back to reading her magazine.

Her ritual was interrupted by the clonk of boots on the concrete pier. Looking up, she saw a man in a trench coat, collar turned to the wind, and a goofy looking hat. Shades hid his eyes and a scarf hid his throat.

She laughed. "What is this, some cheap spy flick? You look silly!"

The man didn't laugh. He leaned forward, eyes raking up and down the strangely attired girl. His body was clearly bigger than hers, something he was trying to use to his advantage. Intimidation didn't go over so well with the girl, however. She laughed again.

"Look, I've got your…thing. Give me the money."

"The chip first," the man responded in a gravelly tone.

The girl shook her head brightly. "Money, then doohickey, mmmmkay?" She trailed out the hum like it was a purr. In her lap Glameow shifted.

For a second, the man regarded her. Who was this woman, thinking she could renege on the deal? He made an unconscious twitch towards the gun hidden in his coat; then relaxed. Reaching in a pocket, he extracted a plastic cardchip—the money voucher that would be added to her bank account.

"Same time," he intoned, placing the other palm up.

The girl shrugged. "Halfsies," she replied. Unzipping one pocket, she waved the little package containing the item she'd stolen in the air. Without another word, she placed it in the man's upturned palm, simultaneous pulling the cardchip from his grasp with the other. She let out a simpering, breathy giggle, turning the card over in her hands.

"A seven mil credit," she told Glameow. "Mommy's got lots of money now, Snookums. We can retire to the South Sea, if we wanted! But that's no fun. We're going to steal lots more things now."

She either ignored the man melting away onto a nearby container ship, or didn't care, but Glameow was watching the man carefully through one lidded eye until he completely disappeared from view. Satisfied, the Catty Pokémon let herself be petted roughly by her Trainer.

_December 17_

_55 Avenue B, University of Sinnoh at Jubilife_

_Jubilife City _

_6:59 PM_

"Thank you for attending," Dr. Chokecherry wheezed, thereby ending his horrifically long lecture. He adjusted his glasses once and then began the slow shuffle off the stage.

The rest of the audience rose to applaud politely (after all, it was groundbreaking research) but Cynthia remained riveted in her chair, hands still gripping her crossed arms. She'd been that way for the entirety of the lecture: staring down Professor Chokecherry like he was her newest challenger.

The applause died out, and Cynthia motioned to her bodyguards. One leaned down closer, the other kept a close watch on the crowd. So far, they had not yet started badgering for autographs, but they would.

"I'd like an interview with Dr. Chokecherry," Cynthia said calmly. "Part the crowds for me."

Without hesitation, she stood up, beginning to exit her row of seats. Swiftly, her bodyguards took up on either side of her, deftly shoving people out of the way to make room for the Champion. Still new to her post, the young woman ignored all the people around them. She made her way to the stage by brushing past and one time pushing the crowd from her path.

A question was burning in her mind.

_December 17_

_Veilstone Memorial Hospital_

_8:04 PM _

Chief Henry had but to flash a grin at the nurse at the front desk and he was waved through to the appropriate room. Valerie had left one of her men at the scene, a burly looking officer dressed smartly in the traditional uniform. He seemed nonplussed by the appearance of top management. With merely another flashed grin, he led them into the inner chamber.

It was cold in this room. _Well, it's always cold in here_, Henry thought, _but with that damn blizzard…_

"You wouldn't expect people to be still working here," he remarked, thoughtfully scratching his chin. Valerie started; her cerulean hair flapping.

"Sir?" she questioned as a lab technician came into the room, escorted by the burly police officer.

"Well, it's nothing really. A hospital…I dunno. Now, show me?"

Valerie glanced at the lab technician. Without so much as a grunt, she drew back the sheet on the body lying on a clean table in front of them—revealing Gregori Scott's porcelain face and elaborately styled royal-blue hair. Bruises lined his face, ugly ones, but the distinctively feline eyes were still recognizable.

"Well, shit." Henry growled.

Valerie stood at attention next to her superior as he dialed up the International Police hotline. She and he were both going to be in a lot of hot water for this one, but Nightmare, hot water would be welcomed in this blizzard.


	12. Forward

I have nothing to say, except updates will resume sporadically, at my usual snail's pace of roughly monthly. XD

For you, Rocky, because you're so impatient.

And for Time, because he's a fracking awesome beta. :D

_

* * *

December 18, 2000_

_26 Rockslide Avenue, Mayor's Residence. _

_Veilstone City. _

_4:07 AM _

Jennifer awoke with a start.

It was cold in the room again; after all, the place was a mass of snow from the recent blizzard. In the night, the snow had started again. She glanced hastily at the flowing flakes, dancing merrily from the sky to hurtle towards the ground. Awful turn of luck, really. It seemed that there would be lots more snow on the way down.

But that wasn't the source of her discomfort. The Mismagius was here, again, and she could feel it.

"Go _away," _she hissed to the otherwise silent room. "Don't tempt me, you devil!"

But the room remained unresponsive, and the mayor felt idiotic for even talking to herself.

It was all too familiar. The first dream she'd had, about her alter ego as portrayed by the Mismagius, was hauntingly similar to the dream she'd just had. Was the Pokémon trying to tell her something with these constant dreams? She had no doubts in her mind that they were coming from the Magical Pokémon. Her visions had been twisted, polluted. She'd had trouble distinguishing what was happening in her dreams, something that had never troubled her before. And now…she felt the familiar clutches of panic in her throat, but she quickly shook them off. Damned creature. She wouldn't let it have the satisfaction that she'd been beaten.

Pulling out her journal, Jennifer slipped on her glasses and began sketching the fourth figure from her dreams…the short woman with red hair.

_December 18, 2000 _

_Pastoria City Pokémon Center_

_Pastoria City_

_8:19 AM_

The red-haired girl roused herself from slumber at exactly 8:19 AM. Without a glance, she flipped Glameow's Pokéball forward, and the Catty Pokémon burst from the sphere onto the girl's bed, yawning. The girl continued on her missive—she was headed for the bathroom.

Her movement was interrupted by a beep from her Pokétch. Cocking her head curiously, she picked up the device, looking forward. A notice had come through from an email, notifying her that the deposit from her cardchip had gone through, and her account now carried seven million plus credits. She really could retire on that, perhaps to the South Sea, but that wasn't what she was planning on. More heists, more danger, more excitement! That's what she wanted. That's what she'd get from now on. She smiled. Soon enough, another email would ping to her Pokétch and she'd get even more money, and more prestige. And then…when she'd finally gotten enough…she'd retire, take her Glameow to the tropics, and live like a Queen.

A sharp giggle burst from her lips as a knock sounded on the door to her room. Glameow looked up interestedly as the girl moved to the door, opening it with a quick snap.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly, drawing out the vowel in the middle.

Nurse Joy stood there with a clipboard. She glanced down reassuringly at the thing before her eyes lingered of their own accord on the redhead. "Oh, Mabel, is it? Checkout time. If I may see your Trainer's License, we'll get the appropriate charges put on your account."

The girl grinned. "Oh, of course. Hang on; let me get my Pokédex, will you?"

Nurse Joy smiled warmly as the girl shut the door in her face. "Of course!"

She waited for a minute, humming softly a few bars of a popular song. She tapped her fingers idly to the beat, first drumming on her clipboard, then her head, and finally the side of the doorframe itself. She let herself be carried by the beat for a long moment until she realized she hadn't heard any noise from the room itself. She frowned.

"Mabel?" she called hesitantly. "If it's not a bother, how about I come in?"

When no response came, Nurse Joy opened the door.

Mabel was gone.

_December 18, 2000 _

_43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12_

_Veilstone City _

_9:34 AM_

"So, Boss." Gregori took a long drag of his cigarette. "May I ask, why me?"

The two were standing on the balcony of Cyrus' apartment, Gregori of course on a smoke break, Cyrus grudgingly obliging his cohort's demands for fresh air. Across from them, Sneasel played happily on the five-foot snowdrifts. The Sharp Claw Pokémon drifted back and forth, catching snowflakes on his little tongue or slicing the snow with his paws.

For a long moment, Cyrus was unresponsive. He'd known this question would come up eventually, but he was still mulling over a good answer for the man. In fact, what was it that had attracted the attention of the cold and silent man? For nothing else, Gregori had nothing to lose, honestly. He was now considered a non-entity by the Sinnohsian government, thanks to some quick thinking with a poor frozen bum's body and falsified dental records (both men had sufficient skill with the computer to undertake that task). Cyrus couldn't shake the feeling that something was looking out for him by providing the exact persons that he would need to complete his vision. There was a cosmic reason for it—he just didn't know what. Something, somewhere…Gregori was meant to be on his team. To share his vision.

"…it's because." Cyrus stopped. "You've heard my vision for the future, what I want to build. You should be able to answer the question yourself."

Gregori nodded, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "We're going to build a new future with the energy source we'll discover. The energy we tap from Pokémon evolution will lead to a grander Sinnoh, one that will become the greatest of the Big Four regions and the rest of the world." He recited.

He stopped, taking a drag of his cigarette. The words sounded impressive enough, but he was still in the dark about his involvement in the whole affair. The MarshBadge Experiment had been one thing. Helping Cyrus? Quite another. Gregori pushed the thoughts from his mind and took another long puff of his cigarette, letting the hot nicotine float in the chilly air.

Cyrus grunted, watching the Sneasel chatter happily at a passing Murkrow who darted around looking for scraps. He smiled imperceptibly at both his underling and at the careful vision of the happy little Sneasel.

He turned, pinning Gregori with a hard gaze that softened into a cool understanding of the other man's motives. Gregori returned the gaze coolly with a terribly imperial air. Somehow, the man exuded suaveness and political power, even through the slouched posture and the carelessly held cigarette. As Cyrus watched, Gregori took a small drag of the cigarette and snuffed it out, not quite finished.

"You really think we can do it, Boss?" Gregori asked softly. "Do you really think that we'll be able to…accomplish…your vision?"

Cyrus grinned. "My friend, we'd be fools not to try."

_December 17_

_55 Avenue B, University of Sinnoh at Jubilife_

_Jubilife City _

_8:05 PM_

"I really must say…I'm delighted to have someone of your stature here with me."

Professor Chokecherry puttered about as he poured a warm cup of tea for Cynthia. The cup was ancient and looked like it would break any minute, but Cynthia sipped it appreciatively. She was pleasantly surprised—the tea was the same kind her grandmother made.

"Your lecture interested me, Professor," Cynthia returned. Professor Chokecherry held up his hands, stopping her mid sentence.

"Please," he wheezed, "Charles, Ms. Delacroix."

"Then you must call me Cynthia."

Her voice was warm and low from the tea, and she sipped it in minute qualities as she observed the professor's cluttered office. Papers lay strewn about the desk she was currently perched beside and fell haphazardly to the floor. An ancient computer glowed on the side of a long counter stuffed with plants and books alike. Along the walls were pictures of various dignitaries and thinkers of his craft, students of the Professor, several members of the Elite Four of Sinnoh and other regions, and one single one with the famed Professor Oak of Kanto. Professor Chokecherry stood at a cabinet across the way, tidying up in a useless gesture to keep his hands occupied.

"Well then, Cynthia…what really interested you in my lecture?" Charles wheezed, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've been teaching for quite some time, you know. You're not the first pupil—or, in your case, observer—to come through my office, saying these same lines."

Cynthia smiled, putting her cup down on the desk. She popped one of her ankles as she demurely sat down in the chair, steeping her fingers. The view of the UofS Jubilife campus stretched impressively out the window, and she did not break her gaze to look at the man behind her.

"Professor," she began, "I must admit. The subject matter itself is not entirely interesting. Biology, physiology, the innermost workings of a Pokémon—these do not concern me. I am a Champion; I work with my Pokémon partners to win battles. I don't spend my days in research. But…there was something you said today, something that _aroused _my interest."

"Aroused?" Charles squeaked. He'd picked the word out from the other waffle she was throwing his way, and he most certainly wasn't pleased with that phrase. "Ms. Delacroix, I am not in the search for petty pleasures of the flesh—"

Cynthia rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. "Spare me that drivel, Professor. I'm not here for that either." Her voice dripped with scorn, and Charles felt his face flush with anger.

"Now look just a minute!"

Cynthia rose from the chair at once, rising to her impressive six foot height. With a slow turn she pinned Professor Chokecherry with an imperious gaze. "Your lecture was droll, Professor," she remarked, "uninteresting and quite unremarkable. I would have nodded off if it wasn't for the clause about Pokémon capture and control—using biological pheromones to keep them contained. There are…applications. Of that research. That I'm interested in."

Charles nodded slowly. "Yes." he replied. "It's quite simple, the formula."

"Simple enough to make a sample?" Cynthia asked, her grey eyes raking the man. "A portable sample?"

The air grew cold as the shorter man stared at Cynthia, his eyes narrowing. His brain buzzed, catching up with what she was asking. His slothful mouth sagged at the edges; he blubbered a couple of times in confusion.

"No," Charles finally hissed, "no. I won't do it. I will not be denied the applications of my research by the League! Too many of my comrades have had this talk with their Champions—Alder, Cottonwood, Willow—I refuse to do the same! I won't have my invention stolen out from under my nose like them!" He clenched his fists as his heart stabbed his chest in his anger. Wheezing breaths issued from his nose in a whine.

Cynthia folded her arms, her gray eyes flicking on his hunched stature. "You will, Professor. You cannot refuse my request."

For a long moment, Professor Chokecherry didn't move. His breath came in raspy gasps as he stared into Cynthia's eyes. How dare she pull that card on him? Already he was being "handled" by the League, something that they—Willow and Alder both-- had said would happen but he had never considered it could be applied to his research. He had been hasty and arrogant to assume that something as breathtaking as his research could have escaped the notice. He wanted the fame and prestige; not this!

"I should have realized," he muttered _sotto voce, "_I should have known."

He looked up at the Champion, his dull eyes flashing with a hard menace. She regarded him coolly in return. Her impassive gray eyes hid her thoughts.

"No," he gasped finally, clutching his chest, "I won't do it."

Cynthia grinned. Sharp pointed teeth poked from the corners of her mouth dangerously. "Yes, you will."

With that, she moved to the door, her dark heels clicking softly even on the carpet. She gathered her coat from the coat rack and put it on with a flourish, not even glancing behind her at the slumped form of the wheezing man in his office.

"I'll call again at the end of the month, Professor!" she spoke cheerily to the now open door. She ginned back at Charles with a cold and feral gaze. "Thank you for the exquisite tea," she added sincerely, and then the door closed with a snap.


	13. Puzzle

What's interesting to note is that I always seem to have trouble with the thirteenth chapter. It always stalls out before I can get anything done, and then takes me months to get over it. Ah, well. Please enjoy this very belated chapter...and remember, everything will belong to Team Galactic.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

* * *

_December 18, 2000 _

_56 Adamantium Avenue, Veilstone Correctional and Penal Facility_

_Veilstone City_

_8:07 AM _

"Sir, you know that the Mayor's eventually going to want answers about this," Valerie said the instant Henry had stepped through the door. She had been impatiently waiting for him to arrive by the glass doors separating the police headquarters from the parking garage and wasted no time in starting the conversation that both knew they had to have. "It was part of the agreement with the Defense Forces and—"

"I'm well aware of _that_," Henry replied with a terse growl as they walked into the complex together from the parking garage entrance. Snow lined the tiled hallway thanks to the myriad of police officers coming to and from their patrols; several times Valerie nearly slipped and Henry caught her automatically with a brush of his hand.

"You know," he commented stifling back a yawn, "you could have forgone the usual outfit today."

Valerie shrugged as she palmed the button for the elevator. "Sir," she replied wryly," if I'm to make Jenny one day, I don't ever want the record to show that I was out of order in any department."

Henry grinned as he surveyed the traditional policewoman's uniform, bare legs and pumps included. Nothing was out of place; even her shoes were perfectly shined.

"Well, if you're sure…at any rate, I'm aware of the agreement. I spent most of last night being dressed down by the higher-ups in the Defense Forces. They're sending someone to help in the investigation…and they contacted the League. The Champion knows."

Valerie's eyes jumped into her head as they boarded the elevator. "Cynthia?"

Henry shrugged. "She has the necessary clearance now, you know. Floor seven," he added to Valerie as she automatically reached for the button that would take them to the top floor and their offices. "Like I said, they're sending someone to help with the investigation. They're already here."

Valerie nodded and punched button for the correct floor. "Sir, for the record?"

Henry grunted noncommittally as the elevator whirred and the box rose in its empty shaft. The traditional and supposedly calming instrumental music played from hidden speakers, but both ignored it. Valerie twisted her gloves in her hands as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the elevator.

"I think we might be getting in over our heads."

Henry shot a baleful glance to his left at her as the elevator came to a smooth halt and the doors opened. In front of them, a few police officers moved around on their own duties, talking loudly about the snowstorm, their families…whatever mundane topic was at hand. They had no clue as to what had transpired, and if all went well, they wouldn't. Something had happened, something of grave importance, something that no one would ever know about.

"Lieutenant, we've been in over our heads since the day we put pen to paper on that agreement."

With that, he stepped off the elevator.

_December 18,2000_

_Veilstone Center for Technology and Progress_

_Veilstone City_

_9:05 AM_

Cyrus and Gregori's footsteps echoed loudly as they entered through the back door of the towering complex. Automatically, lights hummed to life as motion sensors detected their presence. A gentle whir came from the warp tiles in the floor as they powered up. Gregori stared openly and appreciatively at the technology embedded in the very walls of the building. He absently wondered if a calm, cool voice hidden in speakers would attend to his whims, but he dismissed the thought before he was lost in fantasies of science fiction. Regardless, the corridor was sleek and evoked a sense of movement. Gregori found himself wanting to dash down the hallway and keep running.

"First things first," Cyrus commented as they entered into a plush office on the first floor, "we must have manpower."

"Where could we find it?"

Gregori slumped down on the couch in this office. He wasn't sure if it was Cyrus' office—there were no windows—but no expense had been spared. It was beautifully crafted in a post-modern bob of swirls and color yet somehow aggressively neutral. The design of the office suggested movement; everything suggested movement. Keep moving. He wasn't sure where they would be going, but they would not stop in their goals. They would never stop.

"It will have to come from the masses," Cyrus mused as he sank into the chair behind the desk. As he sat, his eyes never quite met the other's. Gregori held out his fingers in the practiced habit of holding a cigarette, despite the fact he had none; it was too ingrained into his psyche.

"The masses?"

"The people," Cyrus elaborated, "the people of this region. There must be _someone _who shares our goal. People who can be easily molded. People of weak will."

The dangerous edge gleamed in his eyes as he pinned Gregori with a long stare. "People of weak heart will follow us. They will follow us until the end. Now we must just find out a way to find them…"

Gregori nodded coolly despite the fact that on the inside his throat burned. He opened his mouth to speak but Cyrus interrupted him with a cool glare that silenced the other man immediately. Gregori automatically straightened from his dejected slump and stared back, waiting for Cyrus' lead. The man was commanding, intimidating. Gregori felt a pull in his heart to do what the other man wanted.

"You must be a leader too." He stated calmly. "You will command in my absence, delegate to my other commanders, keep everyone on task when I cannot. You will be my second, my…Number One, if you will. Are you up to it?"

Gregori fell back against the cushion with a whoosh. Doubts surfaced in his mind. Cyrus was asking a lot, but at the same time it wasn't a question. Deep inside, Gregori almost felt like something was urging him to move forward with Cyrus' vision. He didn't put much stock in myths and fairytales, but something he firmly believed in was The Partnership. The inexplicable bonds that existed between man and Pokémon…some called it hokey, but he had proof it was real. How else could they understand and interact? The same feeling was there with Cyrus. A pull to follow him until the ends of the earth, just like the pull was in his bones to work with his Pokémon partners. Already, the man was irritating for his constant mood swings—suave yet imperial, dashing yet dangerous—but Gregori liked it. He liked the plans and the things that they could create.

Slowly, he bobbed his head up and down, knowing that the next words to come from his throat would be the most important he'd ever made in his life. "I am ready."

Cyrus grinned. "Welcome to Team Galactic Headquarters," he paused for a long, dangerous moment, holding his breath, "Commander Saturn."

_December 18, 2000 _

_56 Adamantium Avenue, Veilstone Correctional and Penal Facility_

_Veilstone City_

_8:57 AM _

"Now let me get this straight, Mr. Griffin, you were aware of the fact that Mr. Scott had been released? And you didn't sign any orders to capture him immediately? Why in Cresselia's name didn't you?"

Henry gritted his teeth as he stared at the League representative. He tried valiantly not to let his irritation show, but Valerie noticed that his eyes flashed dangerously for a second there until he was able to stifle the reaction. The League rep narrowed her eyes and pinned him with a cold stare that he swore would have frozen Regigigas in its tracks.

"I would like an answer, Mr. Griffin," she snapped coldly.

"…begging your pardon, Champion," Henry replied with every bit of ice he could muster, "I have already filed my report with the Defense Forces; I can put you in touch with General Veidt if you would like—"

The Champion jumped out of her chair so fast that the office chair fell onto the carpeted floor with a muffled whoosh and a thump. Even Henry was surprised at the ferocity of her actions as she slammed both of her palms down on the table so hard the whole room vibrated.

"I don't think I have to remind you that I am now the highest authority in this region, _mister _Griffin, and I do _not _appreciate the fact that I am responsible for your mistakes. I would like an answer to my question. _Why _were you aware that Mister Scott had been released and _why _was a manhunt not immediately ordered? Under the agreement, that was to be issued immediately as Mister Scott is—was—a Class Five criminal in the Sinnoh region."

She glowered at Henry over the table and the two locked eyes for a long moment. Her gray eyes were completely impenetrable. Henry couldn't tell if she was completely serious about this affair simply by looking at her eyes; but the grim line of her mouth and the way her chest heaved in the warm air of the conference room told otherwise. It was abnormal for a Champion. It had long been regarded as a ceremonial title, despite the fact that winning Champion actually meant that the titleholder was the highest authority in the region. Not since the long line of Champion-Lords in the latter part of the 1800s had a Champion taken such an interest in the workings that were normally left to the bureaucratic block.

"Why does it matter?" Henry blurted before he could stop himself. "I don't mean disrespect, Champion, I don't." He sucked in a deep breath, confident he'd knocked her off-guard. Of course, he _was _curious.

"Normally, Champions focus on other matters," he continued. "They stick to their training schedules and constant press appearances…opening Pokémon Centers and keeping the Gym Leaders in line and battling every third Bug Catcher that crosses their path. You don't seem the type to really want to take an interest in what goes on in the world. What the rest of us mere mortals have to keep running."

Cynthia narrowed her eyes in a wry smile and let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. Motioning to one of her bodyguards, they stood the chair up and she sank gratefully into it. There was a long moment, another dangerous pause. She was determined to find out why he—a lowly police officer—was asking. She found that her new task was to call his bluff.

"You're right, Mister Griffin," she replied in a frosty tone, "not since the Champion-Lords has anyone taken up the mantle of being Champion with such…vigor, we'll say. I'll admit I have my own goals that don't necessarily end with winning the Pokémon League. Winning Champion is not just a matter of the ceremony. It's not just a matter of the pomp, and circumstance. It's not just a matter of doing those duties. There are other things at work in this universe, things that I aim to study. Do you see now, Mister Griffin? I have knowledge of these other events, and I don't have time to be picking up the pieces after you've let an escaped convict with classified information roam free in the region."

Henry nodded slowly as he absorbed what she'd said. His mind bounced between theories for a little while until he finally decided to tell her the truth. "I delayed ordering the manhunt because of Mister Scott's benefactor," he finally replied.

"Benefactor?" Cynthia asked quietly.

Henry nodded politely. "The security tapes of the facility show a blue-haired man who left with Scott after posting his bail; under the non-discretionary clause of the agreement, we posted a bail on record—an impossibly _high _bail, but a bail nonetheless—and I wanted to track him. I wanted to know why he was authorized to order the release of Scott and where they were headed. Unfortunately…his face returned no hits on our tracking database, and then we found Scott later, beaten to death and left half-frozen under a bridge. There appeared to be no motive, other than to kill him."

Cynthia sat for a long while, drinking in the man's words. "Appeared to be no motive…may I see the pictures of the benefactor?"

Henry nodded. "Lieutenant…?" he asked expectantly, and with a nod, Valerie was already out of her chair and speaking quickly to a guard at the door, telling him where to find the expected files.

"In the meantime, Mister Griffin, I'd like to apologize for my earlier outburst," Cynthia commented when the door was shut again. "It was out of order."

Henry shrugged at her. "I can't say that I blame you," he replied roughly, "but I am still curious as to why you've taken such a special interest in this."

Cynthia smiled demurely, disarmingly. The sharp corners of her teeth poked out dangerously from the sides. "I told you already, Mister Griffin, there are forces at work that I aspire to seek. Gaining Champion was merely a tool to an end for this."

The conversation progressed no further as the door opened again and the guard handed Valerie the appropriate security footage. Henry exchanged a thoughtful glance with her about what the League Champion had just said, but Valerie dismissed it with a casual downturn of her eyes. She placed the folder containing the pictures on the table between the two, and Cynthia accepted it with a quite murmur of thanks.

For a while, they sat in silence as Cynthia flipped through the first pictures. Henry sat with lips drawn tightly together. His leg bounced up and down from nervous habit. Valerie kept her eyes carefully trained on a spot on the wall, prim legs crossed in front of her and hands folded demurely in her lap. It was stifling in the room with so little noise and movement.

Cynthia gasped with a little hitch in her throat, and even Henry broke his twitch at the noise. She pointed to one of the three or four shots in the entire folder that the blue-haired man's face was clearly visible. "I know him, Mister Griffin," she gasped, her throat sticking, "his name is Cyrus…he's an architect."


	14. Two Roads

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.

* * *

December 18, 2000

102 Avenue L, Residence of Prof. and Mrs. Chokecherry

7:04 PM

Hortense Chokecherry was an older woman. She'd aged very gracefully, if she did say so herself, even if that was in part thanks to some expensive surgery to pull her cheeks in, plump her lips and straighten her teeth. She liked wearing long skirts and pumps, even in the house, like a good Sinnohsian housewife used to do. She liked to have dinner prepared for her husband when he came home, and she liked playing friendly games of Voltorb Flip with her friends every Wednesday afternoon. Hortense thought herself as nothing but the most perfect woman, with the most perfect husband, and the most perfect marriage, even if that didn't hold a candle to the reality of her dangerous perceptions.

Today, Mrs. Charles Chokecherry had on a long, sweeping black polka-dotted dress. Her matching pumps sparkled when she moved on the elegant tile of their expansive kitchen, reflecting off the stainless-steel appliances. She heard one of the doors of the house slam right as she was pulling the roast from the oven. As she turned to set it on the granite island in the middle of the kitchen, the slouching form of her husband appeared at the end of the hallway. He angrily threw down his coat and his briefcase before storming into the kitchen. With a barely contained sigh of derision, he fell into one of the chairs in the dining room, staring expectantly at his empty place setting.

Hortense moved gracefully into the dining room, setting plates of food onto the table for their meal. She kept sneaking glances at her reflection in the glass cabinets that held the good china in the dining room, noticing how her hair dipped just right in the light; how her skirt rustled ever-so-gently against her thighs; how her husband groaned irritably at her self-indulgence.

"You're just in time for dinner, my sweet!" she simpered in a high pitched, breathy voice. "I have the roast ready for you to carve."

Charles grunted in reply and picked up the two carving knives from the table robotically, ready to carve the roast turkey his wife had prepared for dinner. Hortense moved from dining room to kitchen as he prepared the roast, gathering tea roasted in the Sinnoh style, then chilled with ice. She set them down on the table and demurely took her place at her husband's side, waiting expectantly for him to finish carving.

"So, I went to the market today," Hortense broke into the eerie silence of the house, "and you'll never guess who I saw! I saw Amber Pinkerton and her husband, George, and their new baby Julia! Oh, what a splendid pregnancy she had. The baby is just as cute as a newborn Skitty and half as big; oh Charles, we must go over one day and see the baby. "

Hortense gracefully took the plate from her husband when he had given her an appropriate amount of the roast and began, equally as gracefully, spooning the vegetables onto the plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she would catch glimpses of the way her hands moved, just like a high society Sinnoshian woman should.

"…and then after the market I went to the craft store; you know, Charles, I've been thinking about replacing the upholstery on the chairs in the parlor—"

"Don't you _ever_ stop blathering?"

Hortense was stunned into silenced by the cold derision in her husband's voice. The blood ran from her face as he rounded on her. She raised her hands to her mouth defensively—what was this coming to?—but Charles did not move forward towards her.

"For one moment, please, let me have silence!" he snapped, a thick wad of spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. "I can barely hear myself think, let alone be able to respond! You are physically incapable of being quiet for more than a minute and I cannot stand it any longer! I wish that you would just leave me alone! And for Cressel's sake…I don't give a damn about the market or whom you saw there or anything else!"

He rose from the table, grabbing his plate and slouching awkwardly into his study. The door slammed behind him with a quick snap that rattled the old house from one end to the other. For a long moment, Hortense sat at her place, stunned, but that soon faltered. She didn't know whether to cry or beseech Charles for answers or even _leave—_

Her thoughts broke off as the study door opened and Charles' slouched frame rested in the light from the study. For a long moment, the two stared at each other; each waiting for the other to speak, when finally, he shuffled past her, wheezing heavily, and retrieved the bottle for his heart medication from their bedroom. Hortense couldn't bring herself to even breathe as she watched her husband shuffle from one end of the house to the other, the raspy tang of ozone that always seemed to follow him around lingering in the air fragranced by the dinner. When the study door again closed with a slam, and the locked clicked solidly behind it, she let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

With stiff, mechanical movements, she cut her roast into bite size pieces and then dropped her head into her hands and cried.

December 19, 2000

43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12

Veilstone City 

2:34 AM

He was nearly asleep when the BlukBerry buzzed angrily, disturbing his thoughts. Cyrus rolled over underneath the mass of covers and pulled it close to his face, wincing at the bright light from the screen. A single text message was displayed; he opened it.

_Meet me in an hour. _

Cyrus sighed and ran a hand tiredly through his shaggy blue hair. He stifled the motion of annoyance, using his training, until he was satisfied that he could respond properly without the mess of an emotional appeal. Grunting, he threw the covers off and moved to the dresser across the way, rummaging around until he'd found a pair of pants and a clean shirt before moving quickly through his apartment. He quickly gathered shoes, a jacket, and was out of the apartment before his coat was even buttoned.

The hush of the snow left the world quiet. Veilstone slept from a hard day's work of digging out the feet of powder that had fallen yesterday and the night before. Cyrus was suitably certain that he wouldn't be seen; nevertheless, he took the long way around to the twenty-four hour coffee shop located by the park he knew was the meeting place. He sighed and sipped the java appreciatively as he waited for his partner to arrive. It was just the place, he figured, and he wasn't a fool. She chose everything she did deliberately.

"Hello," a voice sounded behind him, and Cyrus turned on the bench to look behind him. "You're early," the voice added as he did so.

"Didn't expect me to be late, did you?" he rasped hollowly. "Here. I got you a cup."

"Thank you," she replied sincerely, and soon his partner was sitting beside him on the bench. For a very long moment, they sat in silence broken only by the sounds of the coffee slurping through the tiny holes in the Styrofoam cups. He sighed and watched absently as his breath curled away in the chilly morning air.

"I know there's something on your mind," he choked out hoarsely. "You don't ever do anything without strategizing first. Let's see your opening move."

She was grinning a wily smile as she tucked her long black coat closer around her body. "Shall we take a walk?"

They strolled down the park through deep cuts in the snow, their boots making soft sounds as they sank through the fresh powder. For a moment, her left hand lingered by his, but it seemed like she decided against it and clutched it back around her cup as they stopped by a fence blocking their access to the field in front of them. Giant rocks rose out of the ground in front of them; during the day, they cast long shadows across the park. Even now, the tiny spotlights that illuminated them during the night shone through the snow, casting a watery glow on the scene. Four or five were scattered through deep craters in the ground's surface. Cyrus leaned on the fence and took a long sip of his coffee.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Forgive me," she replied immediately, "but this is one of my favorite places in the whole region."

"Even more than the National Library in Canalave?" he asked softly.

"Almost as much," she grinned easily. He paused, waiting expectantly. He could feel that it was close. Her opening move; they were starting a dangerous game of chess that would escalate into something terrible that neither one of them could imagine.

"Why did you kill that man?"

Cyrus nearly snorted into his coffee as he stared his companion down. He swiped angrily at his nose. "Kill him? I didn't kill him."

"You didn't?" She was genuinely surprised as she scrutinized the lines in his face, looking for any hint of a lie. She was almost surprised to find that there wasn't one.

"I need him. For my vision," he added.

"Your vision?" she repeated, the words dripping like acid from her tongue. "You're actually…still planning to go through with that?"

They let that hang in the air for a long moment, the implications of her statement ringing loudly in the silence. Cyrus looked into her grey eyes and nodded.

"I see it now," she murmured quietly, "because he was so well placed in the MarshBadge Experiment. And his credentials don't hurt either, do they? Top of his class at Celadon University, graduated early, recruited through a talent-searching group…just like you and me, huh?"

Cyrus shrugged. "I suppose," he replied hoarsely.

They paused at the edge of the park and stared at the dark horizon that fell just beyond the cliffside. Heavy clouds bunched and brushed across the night sky, but thanks to the glow of the city lights, they could almost see the dark landmass that was the Battle Island hanging far off to the right. The curve of the cliffs were nearly shear all the way to Snowpoint City. If they squinted, they could almost see the urban glow shining from that fair northern city.

She sighed, letting her breath arch away from her in a puff. "I sincerely hope…for your sake…that you know what you're doing."

Cyrus nodded and stuck his hands in his jacket. "I do, Cynthia," he replied quietly.

She shrugged and began striding down the snow-covered path, arms folded around her torso. He watched her go for a long moment, the edge of her fur-trimmed cloak hissing quietly against the ground. For a moment, emotion won over logic, and he felt his heart burst at the thought of her walking away from him forever. For a split-second, he almost called out to her—

The moment passed. His words died on his lips before he could even think to let them loose. Turning, Cyrus shuffled from the park.

* * *

Been a very long time, hasn't it? I'm surprised you're still here reading this, but somehow, I've got enough of a following to keep it going. I was really inspired by a couple people to keep going, and y'all know who you are, so thank you. Not much to say, except I've got a couple more chapters written and I was finally satisfied enough with this one to release it.

Love to you, for toughing it out.

Everything will belong to Team Galactic!


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